


Armadillo Season

by TessMooreXF



Category: The X-Files
Genre: MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessMooreXF/pseuds/TessMooreXF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between The Rain King and SR 819, Scully and Mulder are assigned to assist in an utterly non-supernatural case of murder for sport along the Texas/ Lousiana border.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armadillo Season

**Author's Note:**

> I think it goes without saying, but just in case - this is a fictional account of Jefferson, TX. As a matter of fact, there is nothing wrong with that town, and Lake Caddo is something every person should have a chance to see!

Armadillo Season  
By Tessa Moore 

Disclaimer: They're not mine! 

Summary: Set between The Rain King and SR 819, Scully  
and Mulder are assigned to assist in an utterly non-  
supernatural case of murder for sport along the Texas/   
Lousiana border. 

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Please send all   
comments to tess.moore.xf@gmail.com. THANK YOU!

Rating: NC-17  
Please note that this is a violent story; Some   
language thrown in for fun. 

**Note: I think it goes without saying, but just in  
case - this is a fictional account of Jefferson, TX.   
As a matter of fact, there is nothing wrong with that  
town, and Lake Caddo is something every person should  
have a chance to see!**

 

\------------------------------------

 

The sky appeared low-hanging and spidery, a dark swirl   
of questionable looking clounds like one could only find  
in the middle of nowhere, Texas. The road was deserted,  
and the scenery worthless - thickets of dense trees   
hugged in various types of moss and growth, yellowing   
grass, and not a body of water in sight. Texas had not  
magically improved in the last year, Scully thought to  
herself. 

She mused that it must be armadillo season, for all  
the hardened little corpses that had dotted the sides   
of the highway on her journey from Dallas. Mulder had   
told her on their last trip to Dallas that one never   
saw armadillos alive - only after they'd died, and she   
pondered how that could possibly be true. Mentally,   
she added it to her list of useless facts to check up  
on. 

Her blackened mood wasn't at all helped by the sight of   
a thick rain drop splattered against her windshield.   
There was only one thing she hated more than being in  
Texas: being in Texas rain. It was a matter of seconds  
before the drizzle became a downpour, rivulets of water  
coursing frenziedly from the side of the windshield.  
She silently thanked herself for renting an SUV instead  
of a sedan, feeling adequately protected from the   
rain belting against the car. 

'One of these days, I'm going to tell Kersh to kiss my  
ass', she thought, recalling the intensely stressful   
morning now behind her. It was only noon, and she had   
already been driving away from Dallas for the better   
part of three hours. Kersh's call came in the middle   
of the night, alerting her that she needed to make the   
bureau's presence known in Southern Texas. Four brutal   
murders in a small town, so far tucked quietly away   
from the media. Oh, and by the way, Agent Mulder will   
be required to complete his current assignment prior   
to meeting her in Texas. In her dazed anger, she'd   
asked him why he was suddenly breaching protocol and   
forcing her into the field without a partner. Kersh   
had only been too happy to spit at her that he hoped  
she was competent enough to complete her own autopsy  
without "Agent Mulder telling her how to proceed." 

Although, she supposed she couldn't fault Kersh for   
breaking protocol, as she'd been speaking to him from  
atop Agent Mulder's thighs. She smiled, and never   
thought she'd derive such pleasure in speaking with her  
superior while flagrantly breaking the BIG FBI rule.   
In the wonder of their new relationship, Mulder and   
Scully had been spending nearly every weekend together,   
but rarely work nights. Truthfully, they were in   
something of a 'trial' period. There were no   
declarations of undying love, but plenty of emotions   
beneath the surface. They made love with a flair for  
the romantic, but had no intention of heading to the  
chapel. It just wasn't "them"; And they couldn't   
afford any more in light of their current predicament   
within the bureau. If she was completely honest, they   
hadn't even had a serious discussion about where they  
stood with each other. 

She knew it was very likely Mulder had headed to the  
Hoover building that morning with fire on his heels,   
ready to rip Kersh a new asshole. She'd reached the   
point of not caring anymore. She'd been ready to   
leave the bureau after the bombing in Dallas - her   
sentiments hadn't exactly changed. She was only   
certain of one thing: as long as Mulder was sure they   
were on the right course, she would follow him as far   
as she was able. She was also stricken with the thought   
that if Kersh fired her, Mulder would either quit, or   
wither away until he finally did something   
termination-worthy. 

For now, he would work at a harried pace, call her   
every couple hours to home in on the "flavor" of the   
case - all the while he was probably more concerned   
about her well-being than he'd let on. Kersh's words   
had been venomous, insinuating that she was incapable   
of forming her own thoughts and conclusions without   
the aid of her partner. She couldn't deny, though,   
that an ingredient out of the 'secret recipe' was   
missing whenever Mulder was. She hoped he could wrap   
his assignment up quickly. 

\-----------------------------

Pulling into the town of Jefferson, Scully had to   
admit that she was somewhat charmed by the historic  
and quaint atmosphere. The buildings were rustic, but  
well-cared for, speaking of a rich touristing   
industry. Passing through downtown, she was amused to  
see the police station, sandwiched between a huge   
western-styled general store and a restaurant. The   
station was tiny, not much larger than a single-wide  
trailor. The building, like all the others, was well  
taken care of, but functional and plain. There were  
two cruisers parked in front of it. 

Not ready to meet the local law, yet, Scully   
continued on in hopes of finding a budget hotel. She'd  
seen a Motel 6 on the highway, but the decrepit sign  
and chipped paint begged her to look for something   
else. As she moved out of downtown, victorian-era  
homes dotted the streets, lush with shrubbery and   
beautiful trees. Though she was loathe to admit it,   
some parts of Texas weren't completely forsaken. 

To her amusement, Scully found that almost all of   
the homes on the main drag were small Bed & Breakfast  
establishments. Amazed at the myriad choices, she   
decided a nice, expensive B & B was just what the   
Bureau owed her. Besides, she was just in the mood   
to send a big "Fuck You" right in the direction of   
Alvin Kersh. The beauty was that it'd take a month   
for him to find out what she'd done. Maybe if she was  
lucky, he'd fire them both before he ever got the   
panicked call from the nose-picker in accounting. 

Enchanted by the look of a large, white estate with   
blue trim, she felt like she was transported back in  
time. A large, tasteful sign proclaimed it to be the  
Carriage House. The estate looked like the home of a   
well-to-do family who played croquette and holidayed   
in Tennessee. The lawn was impeccably manicured,   
accentuated by tasteful, white lawn furniture. It was  
surely expensive and luxurious. It was perfect, she   
thought, as a wolfish smile spread across her face. 

The meandering walkway led her to the front door,   
which bore a sign to "come in any time". The door   
opened easily, and with none of the bells or alarms   
of a commercial hotel door. In fact, nothing about   
the house was like a hotel. As she entered, Scully   
took in the beautifully decorated foyer, perfectly  
kept and exceedlingly tasteful, as the outside of the  
house was. There was no desk, but a kindly looking  
older woman sat in the corner of the foyer, quietly  
reading a book. She sat like a relic of the past,   
ramrod straight, legs crossed at the ankles, and   
wearing a delightfully dated dress. At her entrance,   
the woman took in Scully's appearance with a smile. 

"Hello, there," Her voice was soft and poised,   
telling of the woman's probable years in charm   
school. As the woman smiled, her face lined in a   
most pleasant way, while her coiffed salt and   
pepper hair was most attractive. "I'm Mrs. White."

Scully smiled widely in return, but couldn't help  
the niggling thought that Mrs. White was far too   
much like a Stepford Wife. 'I've been around Mulder   
way too long', she mused. 

"I'm Dana Scully. I was wondering if you might   
have a room available." Scully kept her voice low;  
She didn't know why, but somehow it felt like the   
thing to do. 

"Of course I do!" Mrs. White's features all smiled  
along. "In this town, there are so many Bed and   
Breakfast establishments! Its very rare that there  
isn't a room available somewhere. Oh, but I'm sure  
you know that this is the Bed and Breakfast capital  
of Texas!"

"No, but I was beginning to suspect..." Scully   
murmured. 

"Well, let's get you a room, dear. Will I need to   
send someone to fetch your bags, or will your   
husband be bringing them?" Mrs. White looked as   
though she'd never entertained the thought that   
Scully might be there alone. 

"I'll take care of it, ma'am. However, it'll just  
be a single room." Scully smiled politely. 

The woman nodded, and for the first time since   
they'd met, her smile was tight, lips puckered like  
she'd just sucked a lime. There were no further   
pleasantries exchanged as Mrs. White collected the   
information she needed, then handed Scully an old   
skeleton key for her room. She would be staying on   
the second floor, at the end of the hall. Watching   
the woman walk stiffly from the room, Scully wondered   
what she might possibly have done to offend her.   
Surely there were single women in the town of   
Jefferson, TX?

\---------------------------

Leaning back against the headboard in her single   
bedroom, Scully sorely wished Mulder were there.   
She felt as though it'd been days since she'd spoken-  
really talked, not just the mindless chatter of   
small talk with the Bed and Breakfast operator.   
The room was, as expected, extraordinarily clean   
and tasteful. Absent a table for work, she propped  
herself up against the headboard and worked from the  
floral-printed and lace-draped bed. She didn't think  
it possible, but Scully almost missed the crappy  
motel rooms. She had to consider that, though she   
wasn't ready to accept it, she just wasn't the   
person she'd been before Mulder. 

In her haste to leave, Scully had been robbed the   
opportunity to research the town or the murders with  
any sort of depth. Perusing the files strewn about   
the bed, she readied herself for a night of reading.   
What she knew: four murders had occurred over the   
course of the last two months. The victims were all   
young, attractive women, ages 26 to 32. No ethnic   
pattern; two of the women were White, one Hispanic,  
and one Asian. None of the women left family in the  
area to interview - upon speaking to parents and   
relatives outside of Jefferson, local police found   
that none of the women had been in touch with family  
since they had moved to Jefferson. Scribbling in her  
notebook, Scully wrote a reminder to call and re-  
interview those family members. Why hadn't these   
women been in contact with their families?

None of the four women had been educated past   
graduating high school. The first victim was Allison  
Smith, 29, from Charlotte, North Carolina. She was   
working as a hostess at the local bar. Two weeks   
later came victim two - Annie Flynn, 26, from Denver,  
Colorado. Just five days later, victim three was   
found, but her body showed more advanced signs of   
decomposition. She was likely killed prior to victim  
two. She was Laurie Strauss,30, from Austin, Texas.   
Then, two weeks later came victim four. Ellie May   
was 32, and from Shreveport, Lousiana.

All four bodies were found in and around Lake Caddo.   
The four corpses were displayed nude, but with no   
ritual carry-over from each victim to the next. All   
four women were obviously tortured, with extreme   
overkill and anger. The torture mechanisms varied   
from woman to woman, but the cause of death was   
universally strangulation. 

Pulling the laptop from her bag, Scully pulled up the  
browser, searching for pictures of Lake Caddo. She   
knew the area was prone to swamping, but was curious   
about why a body would be dumped in such a public area.   
Viewing the pictures, all of her questions were answered.   
The lake was more a sprawling swamp than a lake - not   
much open water, but an amazing number of low-hanging,   
willowy cypress trees, moss growing on every surface,   
and overgrowth everywhere to be found. Scully was struck   
with a sick thought - If there were more bodies in that   
lake, they might never be found. 

Staring at the pictures of the lake in new-found   
horror, Scully startled at the sound of a sharp knock   
on the door. Confused about who could possibly be   
knocking, she was dismayed to find that private bed   
and breakfast operations rarely featured peep-holes.   
Opening the door revealed a clean-cut looking officer  
waiting in the hallway. He was relatively tall, maybe  
5'11, and perhaps 30 years old. His knit brows   
signified his attempt at sobriety and professionalism,  
but his face was boyish and friendly. His name tag  
identified him as Officer Foster. 

"Ma'am," Scully was amused when he tipped his hat at  
her. "I'm officer John Foster. I was asked to escort   
you to the police station to meet with the Chief." 

Scully knit her brows, somewhat irritated. "I'm sorry,  
I was planning on stopping by the station in the   
morning, after I've sorted through my files." 

"I understand, Ma'am," Foster's voice was conciliatory.  
"Its just that the Sheriff has come down from Beaumont  
to discuss the case. I haven't been fully briefed about  
the new developments, but there's some concern that   
there may have been a media leak." 

Scully shook her head. The last thing they needed was  
a tiny town full of press. It was alienating to   
citizens and encouraged mass panic. "Just let me get   
my shoes, and I'll meet you downstairs." Scully smiled  
tightly. 

Foster only nodded, again tipping his hat before   
turning back into the hallway. "Wait!" Scully stopped  
him. "How did you know where to find me? For that   
matter, how did you even know I was in town?" Her   
brows were raised, expectantly waiting. 

Foster smiled, "Small town, Ma'am."

 

\------------------------------

 

"So, exactly how small is the town?" Scully questioned   
the officer on their way to the station. The drive was  
pleasant, and Scully made a mental note to look into   
the town's history before she left. 

"Oh, its not really that small." Foster smiled lightly.  
"I was just teasin' you a bit." For the first time,   
Scully noticed that his accent was rather thick. "Total  
population's just 'bout 2,000. But we saw you come into  
town when you came past the station. Don't see too many  
rental vehicles this time of year. Town doesn't get real  
busy for another month or so." 

"Town have a strong touristing business?" Scully was   
genuinely curious. 

"Yes, Ma'am. Lots of folks come down to see the lake. Its  
quite the site - most folks don't know what to make of   
it. Not like anything anywhere else, I imagine." 

Scully's reply was cut short by the crackle of the aged  
radio in the officer's cruiser. "John, this is Rose. You  
still patrolin'?" It was the most casual dispatch she'd   
ever heard, but supposed there was no need for anything  
more complicated in a town that likely only had a few  
officers on duty at once. 

Foster casually spoke into his radio. "I'm here, Rose.   
What'cha got?" 

"Howdy, John. Got a call on a domestic. Johnson residence  
again. Jolene swears Mick really cheated this time."   
Rose's disinterested voice spoke volumes about "Jolene's"  
claims. "Thought you could go work your magic with the   
happy couple."

Foster chuckles. "I'm on it, Rose. Tell her I'll be there   
in five minutes." 

"Copy that!" Rose was gone. 

"Alright..." Foster pulled the car into the small parking   
area in front of the station. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna   
have to leave 'ya and go make sure Jolene doesn't do   
anything stupid. Just go on in - Chief's the only one there  
right now. The Sheriff's been her 'bout an hour." 

Scully opened the passenger-side door and gestured to the   
station. "Where do you house prisoners? I've never seen   
such a tiny station." 

"Oh, we don't usually have much need to house anyone."   
Foster smiled. "And if we do, we just lock 'em in the   
interrogation office and spend the night in the office.   
"Usually we can get 'em transported off to Beaumont pretty  
quick."

"Thank you, Officer." Scully's smile wasn't quite as tight   
as it had been at the hotel. There was something disarming   
about the casual, friendly officer. Getting out of the car,  
she saw Foster tip his hat once more, than speed off to his  
phony domestic call. 

\----------------------

The inside of the police station was just about as   
interesting as the outside. Maybe a little less, Scully   
decided. Walking in, the length of the building was filled  
with four small desks, all unoccupied. Two doors against   
the back wall of the room remained closed. They were both  
clearly marked: the Chief's office, and the Interrogation/  
holding room. It was was a standard office: bare of   
personal touches and home to some of the ugliest gray   
carpet she'd seen in a long time. The desk closest to her   
was marked as reception and dispatch. This must be Rose's   
desk, though it was empty. A single bell sat at the corner   
of the desk, with an obnoxiously cheerful sign: Ring for   
Help!

Scully did as the sign beckoned, and firmly rang the bell.   
No sound answered her, except for the rattling of the   
window unit air conditioner. Sighing frustratedly, she was  
about to go knock on the Chief's door herself, but was   
interrupted when the door opened itself. 

The man himself was a typical higher-up law man. He was   
probably nearing fifty, a little rough around the edges.   
It seemed that hair loss came with the job, and the Chief  
had very little. He likely hadn't had to qualify in any   
sort of fitness regime, if his beer belly was any   
indication. What stood out most, though, was the remarkable  
scowl on his face. 

"I'm sorry, Miss, but you're not allowed back here. I'm in  
the middle of a meeting, and if you need directions, you're  
going to need to go next door to the General Store." He was  
almost polite, but managed to slam the door to his office  
behind him. She could hear him apologizing, to whom she   
assumed was the Sheriff, for the interruption. "Some lost  
tourist..." 

Feeling the ire rising from all corners of her body, Scully  
worked to control herself. It wouldn't do her any good to  
get herself into a fight. Taking a deep, cleansing breath,  
she strode purposefully to the door and knocked. 

When the door opened this time, it was with an angry swing,  
and Scully was anxious to deflate the situation. As the   
Chief's angry face came into focus, Scully raised her   
badge against the signature scowl without saying a word,   
waiting for recognition to make itself clear on his face. 

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, here from Washington D.C.   
I was told you were expecting me, but perhaps not." She   
couldn't help but convey some irritation in her tone. 

The Chief plastered a disingenuous smile on his face, but  
not before making a show of hiding his sneer. "So sorry,   
Agent Scully. I'd been told a fella doctor was coming from   
the bureau. When I saw that you weren't..." He trailed off  
momentarily, "...with my officer, I figured you must have   
been a vacationer." 

Scully's smile was strained. "I see. Your officer was   
called out just prior to dropping me off. I assume he'll  
be back shortly." 

"It's no matter. Please, come in and join us." He gestured  
her into the office. "I'm Chief Russell Ford, by the way.   
And this is the Marion County Sheriff, Alan Cooke." 

Alan Cooke sat in the corner of the small office, ramrod  
straight and with a look of irritation on his face. He   
was a friendly-looking man, a little younger than the   
Chief; Perhaps 45. Cooke was Ford's exact opposite: Thin,  
well built, with a head full of hair and an exceedingly  
pleasant face. Scully liked him already. 

Cooke stood immediately and came to greet Scully, his   
hand open for a shake. Accepting the handshake, Scully   
smiled to him, "Agent Dana Scully. What have we got, here?  
Officer Foster thought there may have been a media leak?"

Finally seated, Cooke began to explain. "Yes, Agent. I've  
been told that an anonymous source granted an interview  
to a colomnist out of Dallas. The local folks all know   
about this, as do the papers. They're a little shaken up,  
but we would all like to avoid mass panic, if possible.   
We don't want the town inundated with reporter-types."

Scully nodded. "Has there been a determination of who's  
responsible for the leak?" 

"No. That's what I was here discussing with the Chief.   
No one has been forthcoming on the subject. We're going   
to need to amp-up the investigation and bring a suspect  
in urgently. Its my understanding that this Dallas   
reporter is planning on coming down here. God only knows   
what he's bringing with him, but if we can get this thing   
rolling, maybe we can avoid looking like we're sitting on   
our duffs while young women are dying." The sheriff's  
flair for politics were apparant.

Scully nodded again, nothing to add. She turned to the   
Chief, "I would like to get my eyes on everything you have  
for the case, If I may. I'm afraid what the bureau has is  
rather basic. I'll need to comb through your victim profiles   
and case-reports, as well as any evidence retained from the   
crime scenes." 

The Chief balked, stuttering and awkward. "That's boxes  
of files, Agent Scully. I'm afraid that I don't have   
those assembled.. everything's been a bit of a mess." 

The Sheriff knit his eyebrows. "You might want to look at  
getting someone to keep files for you, Russ. This is   
important - we can't let some sonofabitch walk because   
some of the files suddenly went missing." 

Scully could see the anger rising again in Ford's face,  
clearly unappreciative of the sheriff's reprimand. His   
complexion reddened, his cheeks puffing in frustration.   
"I'll give you the night to get everything assembled,   
Chief." Her smile to him was conciliatory. "I'll have   
plenty to do in the mean time." 

Both Scully and Sheriff Cooke rose from their seats. "I'm  
off, Russ. You know you can call if you need anything."   
Cooke leaned forward to shake the Chief's hand. 

Ford only nodded to them both, waving them out of the   
office. 

Stepping outside of the tiny station, Cooke scanned the  
parking area, seeing only the Chief's cruiser and his own  
County vehicle. "Where's your ride, Agent Scully?" 

It had only just occurred to her that Officer Foster   
hadn't made it back as quickly has he'd hoped. "I was   
escorted by Officer Foster. He had a domestic to attend   
to, but thought he'd be back to take me to the hotel." 

The Sheriff thought for a moment. "Have you been out to   
see the crime scenes?"

At her head shake 'no', he gestured her to his vehicle.   
"I'll take you out now. We've still got a couple hours of  
light. You won't be able to do anything too detailed, but  
you're not going to get any help from Russ. I can at   
least get you started."

\------------------------------

The evening sun glistening against Caddo Lake was a   
stunning sight. Scully could understand why the websites   
she'd looked at had described it as one of the most   
majestic sites in the southern states. The Cypress trees   
were growing in the water, their thick, water-stained   
trunks hugged by thickets of water moss and lilly. Their   
branches hung thick and low, some almost grazing the   
water. The water itself was still and glittering. The   
land surrounding them was lush, green, and overgrown.   
In the distance, Scully could see that the land tapered  
off into patches of swamp, foamy pits of mud and water  
visible beneath the unreal green moss. 

"Amazing, isn't it?" The Sheriff broke her wonderment.

"I've never seen anything like it..." Scully was almost  
dazed in the visual overload. 

Cooke smiled. "It goes on for over 25,000 acres, if you'll  
believe." 

Scully knit her brows. "Has it occurred to you that there  
may be more than four victims in this case? If there were,  
we might never find them in these waters." 

The Sheriff nodded. "I've thought of that. But I've also   
gotten the distinct impression that whoever did this   
wanted those girls to be found. Let me show you where we   
found them." 

Careful to avoid falling into unstable ground, Scully   
walked behind the Sheriff around the shore of the Lake.   
He pointed to a mossy outcrop of rock just to the left,   
almost completely sunken into water, but plainly visible.

"He left two of the bodies on that rock... almost like it  
was his spot. Since the bodies were unclothed, it took no  
time at all for a boater to spot each one. Plus, once we  
found the first girl, we had spotters out here poking   
around each morning and checking for strange activity at  
night. Only one of the victims was markedly decayed by  
the time we found her. We think she was probably dropped  
in the water, maybe by accident. Probably took a couple  
days for her body to float to shallower water." Cook   
spoke matter-of-factly.

Scully nodded, slowly making her way around the wet edge  
of shore to the rock. "It would have taken somone very  
strong to walk this narrow strip of mud without dropping  
a body." She mused aloud. 

"I would agree with that." The Sheriff watched her closely,  
looking for any sign that she might fall. 

"Would there be any reason to suspect that the killer   
might have brought the body from the water? Could have   
maybe crossed from the other side..." Scully mused.

"Oh, no one would be walking a body across." The sheriff  
smiled indulgently. "There are gators all over the place.  
If the body was delivered from the water, it would have   
been by boat."

Reaching the rock, Scully was dismayed to find that the   
light was just dim enough to obscure her view. Pulling   
out her pocket flashlight, she shone it onto the rock and  
moss in front of her. "I see traces of blood, here. Were  
samples sent to the lab?" 

"Yes, Ma'am." Cooke responded. "I was here for the   
processing of each crime scene, and I do remember blood   
samples sent to the lab in Beaumont." 

Scully's attention was suddenly caught by something metal  
gleaming against the light of her flashlight. Thanking   
herself for her anal-rententive tendencies, Scully pulled  
an evidence bag from her pocket, along with a latex glove.  
She didn't bother putting the glove on, but used it to   
fish out the piece of metal and place it in the bag. 

Walking back to the Sheriff, she shared her find. He   
squinted in the dim light. "Looks like a ball bearing." 

Scully nodded. "Yep. And there's blood on it." She smiled.

"Nice find, Agent." Cooke smiled back at her. "I have to   
admit, this is a little exciting. Maybe we can nail this   
bastard afterall." 

"Let's hope." Scully nodded. "Where were the other two   
bodies found?" 

Cooke pointed down the channel of water a little farther.  
"Laurie Strauss was the victim we found in the water.   
The Coroner was unable to pinpoint a time of death. Then,  
the last victim was found right up on shore, where we   
first came in." 

"Very bold, don't you think?" Scully thought for a moment.  
"I think you're right. He wanted these bodies found - he's  
proud of them. But why put one body in the water?" 

The Sheriff shook his head in frustration. "I just don't   
know." 

"Maybe he's a little smarter than we give him credit for.   
Maybe there's evidence on that body that he thought he   
could cover up with immersion in water." Scully went   
quiet for a moment. "The Coroner's office is in Beaumont,  
right?" 

"Right." The Sheriff nodded. "All victims' bodies have been   
retained. The families have been getting anxious, but   
we've been waiting for the bureau to send someone out for  
quite some time."

"That'll be helpful. I'll head up to the Coroner's office  
tomorrow." This may be an interesting case, afterall. 

\-------------------------

The ride back to the Bed and Breakfast was in total   
darkness. Scullyl could feel exhaustion creeping into her  
bones. It was now after 9pm and she'd first started out  
for texas at 4am. Was Kersh trying to kill her? At that   
moment, she thought it might be a valid concern. 

"Thank you for your help, Sheriff. I don't understand,   
though, why you said I wouldn't get any help from Chief  
Ford?" Scully spoke quietly. "He seemed to be bothered by  
my presence..." 

"Everyone knows Russ is one of the "good 'ole boys". He's  
just old fashioned. He doesn't like anyone coming to town  
to bother him - afterall, it doesn't happen often at all.   
For the most part, this town is quiet as can be. They   
rarely even have cause to detain someone. Unfortunately,  
he also doesn't believe in hiring female officers. His   
reasons are his own, and he's just going to have to deal   
with you." Cooke smiled at her. "Just ignore him. If he   
gives you any serious trouble, you call me. I'm always   
more than happy to light a fire under his ass." 

Scully smiled as they pulled up to the bed and breakfast.  
"I'll keep that in mind." 

Cooke turned to her, suddenly dead serious. "And I wasn't  
joking when I said to call. I have business to attend to  
in Beaumont, so I can't be here as much as I'd like. But  
I want to be here to take this sonofabitch down."

Scully nodded, and accepted a business card from Cooke's  
outstretched hand. "Good night, sheriff." 

"Good night, Agent. You just remember - I can be here in  
two hours if I drive real fast." His smile was back. 

\--------------------------------

"What?" Scully muttered into the phone half an hour later.  
She'd just begun the sweet slide into bed, ready to melt  
into the matress. 

"Well, hello to you, too." Mulder's voice was mock-  
irritated. "Sorry to bother you." 

Scully sighed. "Nothing against you, Mulder, but I could   
kill you right now. I just now got back to my room for the  
night, and I think I started sleep-walking about twenty-  
five minutes ago." 

"So I take it the day didn't lighten up on you?" He was  
casual. 

"Well, my plane didn't crash, and I haven't been maurauded  
by a band of Texan gypsies, so I'll count myself lucky."   
Scully smiled. "When are you getting here?"

It was Mulder's turn to sigh. "I'm hoping for two days. I  
came into the Hoover building and went to chew Kersh's ass,  
only to find out he's a coward little piece of shit and   
claimed he was in meetings all day. His assistant wouldn't  
take my name. Anyway, we've got a suspect, I've just got   
to wait for him to crawl out of the woodwork." 

"Glad to hear it." Scully's voice was flat. "It wouldn't   
have done either of us any good if you'd killed Kersh." 

"Oh, but I want to..." He muttered. "So, what do you think  
of the case?" 

"You're going to like it, Mulder." Scully grinned. "Wierd   
little town, swamps, alligators, and mutilated bodies.   
Its not exactly the redneck paradise I'd pictured, but I  
think there are a lot of secrets around here. And, bonus,  
the Chief of Police hates me with a passion."

There was silence for a moment. "You're ok, though, right?"  
His concern shone through the phone lines. "I can't   
believe Kersh sent you out there by yourself. This sounds  
rough."

"I'm fine." Her voice was calming. "I've just got to go to  
Beaumont tomorrow and check out the bodies. Hopefully by   
then, we'll know when you can get out here. I'm really   
going to need you. I have a feeling I'm in for a fight with  
the Chief. For some reason, he's dragging his feet on   
handing over the files. I think its MOSTLY because he   
doesn't like women, and the Sheriff agrees."

"Alright.. I'm working on it, Scully. I'll call you   
tomorrow. I think I'm heading out there, hell or high water.  
I'll let you know." His voice was urgent. 

"Mulder?" She muttered. 

"Yeah?" He still sounded anxious. 

"I'm asleep..."

Mulder chuckled, bid her to hang up the phone, and wished  
her goodnight." 

 

\--------------------------------

 

Scully was relieved to find that the Coroner's office  
was like any other, a comfort she couldn't deny. While  
Texas was like a foreign country, the inside of a   
morgue was familiar - the tools regulated, the   
stations all remarkably similar. And people who worked  
on dead bodies spoke a common language - and it was a  
predictable language, devoid of duplicity or contextual  
misunderstandings. Those in forensics were to-the-point,  
factual, and serious. "I love the smell of formaldehyde  
in the morning..." She thought with a grin, chuckling  
to herself amid the empty autopsy bay. Clearly she   
hadn't had enough coffee or sleep. 

The early difficulty with Chief Ford had been eating at  
her all morning, creeping into her thoughts while   
yet again confined to her car for a three hour ride of  
solitude. Having slept on it, her ire was clearer and  
more pronounced. All her exposure to the Good Ol' Boys  
club hadn't helped her - it hurt to be treated as an   
inferior officer, regardless of the context. Something  
about Ford's reluctance to hand over his files had   
rubbed her the wrong way. She couldn't completely   
discount that Mulder's paranoia had rubbed off on her,   
but it felt like more than a simple case of dislike. 

Shortly after changing and readying herself for the  
busy morning ahead, the County Coroner had made his   
presence known, offering any assistance necessary. It  
was common procedure to bring the County Coroner in   
to negate any potential liability on the part of the  
justice system in the case of a major murder. To  
Scully's relief, he was nothing like anyone she'd met  
in the Great Old State of Texas. As a matter of fact,  
he was unlike anyone she'd ever met, period.

"Well, if I'd known what the bureau was sending me,  
I wouldn't have made you wait, Agent!" His voice was   
roughened with the morning and jovial, clearly joking,  
but a little louder than she'd prefer prior to her   
third cup of coffee. 

Ready to roll her eyes, Scully was stopped by the   
sight of his friendly face, not wrinkled, but accented  
by salt and pepper hair and a squinted smile from   
behind his goofy glasses. He certainly wasn't what   
you thought of when picturing "civil servant turned   
politician". 

Paul Fisher was a black man, aged but posessing of a   
grace that made him look far younger than his 68 years.  
"Don't go telling anyone..." He'd chuffed at her, while   
they readied themselves to review the first victim. As   
he joked, he nudged her shoulder with his gloved arm in  
an almost brotherly gesture. She'd mused that with his   
Buddy Holly glasses and oversized white coat, he looked   
more like a pharmacist than a man who had, at some point,  
spent his time elbow-deep in guts. He was the kind of   
man you met for coffee on Sunday morning just because   
you enjoyed his company. 

Fisher stood over each victim, pleasantly waiting for   
any questions she may have, and interjecting with   
important tidbits every moment or two. Scully was not  
the type to share an autopsy bay, but she found Fisher's   
presence to be surprisingly helpful. He explained that   
he'd been monitoring the post mortems for each victim   
from the beginning, in anticipation of the fallout from   
the brutal murders. She found that he ran a tight ship:   
all post-mortems were exact, clean, and very well   
written. 

Each victim did, indeed, exhibit multiple signs of   
torture, none of which were consitent from one victim  
to the next. Allison Smith showed signs of damage  
from a hot iron; a couple cigarette burns. The second  
victim, Annie Flynn, was cut multiple times. None of   
the cuts were deep enough to be fatal, but ranged the  
span of her body. Laurie strauss was extremely decayed,  
but was simply beaten. Contusions and scrapes covered  
most of the soft tissue around common impact points   
on the body. Ellie May had suffered multiple broken   
bones, mostly fingers and toes, and one arm. While the   
arm showed signs of impact, the fingers and toes  
did not, indicating that they were forcibly snapped. 

"What do you make of the strangulation patterns,   
Doctor Scully?" Fisher suddenly asked. He was   
perusing the autopsy reports, enlarged photos of each  
victim's neck splayed out on the other side of the   
table. She came around to peer at the pictures side  
by side. "Rather odd, don't you think?"

Scully nodded. "I agree. That's not a typical   
strangulation pattern. The collapse of the muscle   
along the entire length of the neck suggests that   
the victim was held face down, while the apparatus   
was wrapped around the front of the neck and then   
pulled upward with steady force." She gesticulated  
while she spoke. 

The photos showed each woman's neck raw and bloodied  
from top to bottom. Columned rubbing patterns were   
displayed on each victim. 

Scully sighed. "I'm thinking its a wide, long strap  
of some sort. The victim had to have been immobilized,  
probably by a foot on the back. Then the strap could   
be pulled with the sort of leverage necessary to   
collapse the stemocleidomastoids in each victim, all  
of whom varied in height, weight, and presumably   
strength."

Paul Fisher nodded silently. "Seems like there must   
be a million possibilities fitting that description,  
but not everything would leave that ridge-pattern."

"I think you're right, Mr. Fisher." Scully's voice  
was absent. 

"Paul." When she looked at him quizzically, he   
stammered, "Please, call me Paul. At my age, I get  
excited when a pretty lady calls me by my first name."  
His smile was genuine and unabashed, his eyes gleaming  
at her from behind his new-generation horn rims. 

Scully couldn't help but smile back, but felt herself  
blushing at the sly compliment. 

"Ok..." Scully centered herself, all business. "I   
have to admit, I'm more curious about... this." She   
walked to her coat, retrieving the ball bearing she'd  
found at the lake, still encased in the plastic   
evidence bag. 

Paul examined the ball bearing as she spoke. "The last  
victim, Ellie May, had multiple small bruises on the   
back. I think she was shot with a BB gun. I found this  
at the lake, on an outcropping where two of the bodies  
were discovered. I'm hoping the blood on it will   
confirm that one of our victims was shot with it." 

Paul squinted while he turned the baggie around, then  
moved to examine the corresponding bruises, laid out  
in his pile of photos. "Well, hot damn! Spank me and   
call me Shirley, but you've got it goin' on. Best   
evidence I've seen yet. Did you want me to forward this  
to the Dallas Lab for typing?"

"Yes, please, Paul." Scully flashed him a slight smile.

"Well, Agent Scully, after all this dismal hard work,   
I believe we've come to the part where I ask you out."   
His face was all seriousness. 

Scully stammered for something to say. 

"To lunch, of course." Paul's look was mischevious.  
"I know you can take care of yourself, but you look  
hungry, if I do say so myself. Besides, you'll be   
needing a little something before you drive back to   
Jefferson." 

"Okay, but don't you go getting any ideas... " She   
teased, and the Coroner practically twittered in   
anticipation. 

 

\-------------------------------

 

"I'll have you know, I only take the prettiest ladies  
to this joint." Paul smiled at her from the opposite  
side of the diner booth. After the myriad diners she'd  
experienced, she'd become convinced that the greasy   
spoon was the only existing breed of the diner species.  
She may have been hasty in her conclusion. 

Mary's Diner was spacious, clean, and tasteful. Live  
plants were strewn around the heavily-glassed dining   
area. The outside of the building was a perfect example  
of a civil war gathering place, a gracefully-aged and  
white-painted relic of the past now transformed into a  
meeting place for the new era. 

"How does your wife feel about all these girlfriends   
of yours?" Scully teased right back. Settling back into  
the booth, she allowed herself to relax a bit before   
heading back to the odd little town of Jefferson.   
Paul reminded her of her favorite Uncle growing up -   
he was just comfortable. 

"Oh, she's not around anymore. Passed away a good ten  
years ago. But every now and then I can hear her   
clinkin' around in my head... She says "Paul, what are  
you doing pestering that poor girl?'" His voice was   
high pitched and he characterized his wife with a   
distinct screech, but his face belied his affection for  
her. 

"I didn't think..." Scully was cowed. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry - Everyone's ok." Paul smiled widely.  
"So, how's Jefferson treating you?" 

Scully thought for a moment and cleared her throat.   
"Honestly, I've only been there a day, and I'm getting  
a strange vibe from the place." 

Paul nodded. "Not real welcoming, is it? Pretty little  
town, but the people are odd." 

Scully knitted her brows, and before she could form   
her question, the Coroner cut her off. 

"I lived there for quite some time. When I was younger,  
I was a police officer. Even 30 years ago, the town was  
odd."

"How so?" Scully leaned over the table, engrossed. 

"Its very conservative, and full of shut-ins. And its  
strange, considering the town's roots. It used to be a  
port and shipping town, full of migrant workers and   
prostitutes. Lots of unecessary deaths, if you know   
what I mean. Then, the ports got shut down and the town  
suddenly died. The population decreased by at least   
75 percent, and became something of a tourist   
destination, sort of a draw-in for historians. But, its   
like there's a faction of people in the town who believe   
they can make up for the iniquities of the past by being   
Stepford-beings or something..."

Scully startled herself at the parallel to her earlier   
thoughts. "Stepford-beings?" 

"Yeah... I don't know how else to describe it." Paul   
thought for a moment. "You know, the women with the   
perfectly made-up hair and faces and impeccable clothes.  
They're like something out of "Leave it to Beaver". Its  
creepy. Then, along the edges of town, there's a huge   
population of dirt-poor local people. I don't mean to   
say anything negative about anyone, but they're the   
stereotypical hillbilly types - thier houses are all   
little shacks, with the junked out cars out front. Used  
to get calls about random gunfire out by the lake quite  
a bit. There's a lot of tension between the two sides of   
town. Like I say, its just plain wierd." 

"What about your experiences with the police department?  
What made you change your line of work?" Scully cocked  
her head, fully invested in Paul's story. 

"I'd always found forensics to be more interesting   
than the daily life of some trailer trash beating his   
wife in podunk, USA." He grimaced. "But, I just didn't   
care for the job. There wasn't much to be written about a   
town like Jefferson."

"I find it hard to believe that someone like you wasn't  
able to make friends." Scully was perplexed. A man who'd  
managed to befriend her in three hours wasn't welcome in  
a town he'd lived in for years?

Paul shook his head. "Honestly? I think some of it had  
to do with the fact that I'm black. The rest of it, I   
think, has to do with the town atmosphere. Lots of   
tight-knit folks who don't want anything to do with anyone   
unless they grew up with 'em. They tolerate the tourism,   
because the town wouldn't survive without it." 

"What about the current police chief? Russell Ford - do  
you know him?" Scully spoke cautiously. 

"Yeah, I know that son of a bitch - excuse my language,  
please." Paul shook his head again. "Its a real lucky   
thing he's young enough I didn't have to work with him  
long. I'd have popped his lights." 

"If you don't mind me asking, why the animosity?" 

"He's just an arrogant little man. Always had to put   
everyone down to get ahead - I'm sure you know the type.  
I'm sure you've also discovered that he can't stand   
women. Hasn't ever been able to live with one, either.  
Been divorced a few times. Back when I was still living  
there, rumor was that he beat his wife every opportunity.  
No one ever saw her to confirm or deny." Paul spoke with   
venom. 

"I've noticed he has some trouble with sharing. He's   
dragging his feet on relinquishing his files over to the  
bureau. I can't decide if its because he has something  
against the bureau, something to hide, or if he just   
dislikes me that much." 

Paul smirked. "His work ethic isn't anything to write   
home about, but I think its probably a little of   
everything. He was likely unprepared, and then when you   
arrived on the scene, he decided to make things difficult.   
Pretty typical."

Scully nodded. "Any advice?" 

"Get the files from him as soon as humanly possible."   
Paul was suddenly sober and serious. "You'll need to   
just tough him out. There's no convincing him of your  
authority or competence. He's likely to hoard the files  
to aid his own investigation. Since the FBI sent a   
female agent, he's going to want to make damn sure he  
gets every drop of credit for the solving of this case."

Both Paul and Scully stared at each other fixedly, as   
Paul radiated the seriousness of his warning. They   
were interrupted by the waitress dropping their food   
onto the table. 

Scully cleared her throat nervously. "Let's eat, Paul.   
I've got some files to pick up." 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

As Scully made her way back to Jefferson, uncaring of  
her blatant disregard for speed, the conversation she'd  
had with Paul Fisher rang through her mind. She had a   
feeling Paul was a greater asset than she'd been   
prepared to find on this case. She also had a feeling   
the case was about to get big, and it disconcerted her  
that Mulder wasn't there. 

"Agent Scully!" Paul had called to her has she headed   
backvto her vehicle after lunch. "You watch your back.   
I've got a feeling about this one. You're young and   
pretty; Please don't take any chances. I'll be calling  
you tomorrow with the results on that ball bearing." 

If hard-pressed, Scully wouldn't admit it aloud, but  
she also had negative feelings about the case. What'd  
just seemed like an odd town had turned into a   
suspicious town. The Chief may have been a real bastard,  
but she hadn't put much thought into his treatment of  
her. Her conversations with both the Sheriff and the   
Coroner had left her feeling uneasy about the man. Was  
he dangerous? His temper certainly seemed to indicate   
as much. 

She felt additionally uneasy about the issue with the  
files. Her paranoia crept up on her again, as she   
considered that the longer Ford had the files the less  
reliable they may be. The briefing handed to her by   
Kersh was extremely weak on details, pending completion   
by local files and evidence collection. Assuming the   
Chief had been complete in his filing, the detailed   
crime scene reports, interview transcripts, and   
victimology were all missing from her briefing.   
Thankfully, Paul had given her the copies of the hair,   
fiber, and DNA files for the crime scenes, and she had   
the autopsy reports. 

Pulling into Jefferson at breakneck pace, Scully drove  
hard and angry to the police station, ready to take the  
files by force. She saw the general store owner outside  
his door staring at her disapprovingly, but couldn't   
have cared less. She'd had three hours to work herself   
up, and heaven help the first person she came into   
contact with. 

Her heart sunk as she pulled into the empty drive, no   
sign of any squad cars. In fact, other than the next-  
door shop owner, the entire street was deserted. She   
thought she might hear crickets. It was only 4:30.   
Getting out of the car, she saw the hand-written sign   
posted on the cheap door - "Be back after supper!". 

"Damnit..." She growled, pulling on the door "just in   
case", to no avail. She briefly wondered what would   
happen if she just went bat-shit crazy and kicked in   
the door. But then she'd probably break her shoe and  
her foot along with it. Sighing in frustration, she  
looked around for someone to question, but noticed  
that even the shop owner had gone back inside.   
Working to re-formulate her plan of attack, she   
got back in the car and made her way to the Bed   
and Breakfast. 

 

\----------------------------

 

Walking into the front entrance of the Bed and   
Breakfast, her plan was clearly formulated. Now, she   
just needed to get the phone number. When Mrs. White   
didn't greet her upon her entrance, Scully silently  
crept toward the empty kitchen. She noted the cold   
and impersonal feeling of the kitchen, and couldn't   
help but find it odd. She was pleased, however, to   
find the object of her search sitting right next to   
the old rotary phone on the counter. 'What is up with  
this woman?' She thought to herself.

The local phone book was starlingly thin, something   
the size of a book for tweens rather than the   
thousand page volume one found in a DC phone booth.   
Flipping through the phone book at a hurried pace,   
it took her no time at all to find the number.   
'Thank God for small towns..." She thought, scanning  
the room for company before hastily memorizing the   
number. 

"Can I help you?" Mrs. White's voice was staunchy and   
irritated, none the inviting woman of her arrival. She   
did, however, look perfectly coiffed and was dressed   
in a conservative flowered number. Her perfectly   
penciled eyebrows arched in suspicion at Scully. 'You  
think you can win at *that* game?' Scully almost   
laughed as the woman attempted to better her at her   
own game and arched her own eyebrows for good   
measure. 

"Just needed a number." Scully's smile was tight lipped  
and uncomfortable. 

"Its rude to root around other people's things." Mrs.   
White sounded as though she were berating a third grader,  
and Scully knit her brows, but did not answer her. "I   
don't appreciate what you do for a living, and I'd  
appreciate it if you could keep to your own things,   
Please."

The woman was scarily still, her eyes angry and her   
mouth set. Scully nodded and went to leave. 

"Its also rude not to eat the breakfast I made you."   
That still and strangely demure voice called out from   
behind her. 

Scully cleared her throat nervously. "I apologize, Ma'am.  
I had to be in Beaumont early this morning. I was gone   
before breakfast." 

If possible, it seeemed that Mrs. White's face grew   
tighter. "Well, then I suppose you won't be needing any  
more meals here." 

Ghost-like, the woman walked back down the narrow   
hallway from which she came, which seemed to lead to  
another wing of the house. Chills rang up Scully's   
spine unannounced. It wasn't often that Special Agent  
Dana Scully felt 'creeped out'. 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

"Officer Foster; I'm sorry to bother you at home." Scully  
spoke into her cell phone. "This is Agent Scully."

Scully was seated in the driver's side of her car, parked  
in front of the Bed and Breakfast. Somehow, she wasn't sure  
going back to her room was the right thing to do after her  
confrontation with Mrs. White. She watched the house   
closely, not wanting any additional confrontation with the  
woman. She couldn't help but feel that everything was   
quickly blowing up in her face. 

"What can I do for you, Agent?" Foster's voice was friendly  
as ever, crackling across the weak phone line. 

"I need to pick up the complete files for this case from  
the Chief, but he's not at the station right now. I was   
wondering if you might be able to hand them over to me   
yourself." She closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer  
the the Officer said yes. 

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully..." She let out the breath she   
was holding. "I'm afraid I can't do that. The Chief keeps  
the files locked in his office, and he doesn't hand out  
keys to any soul. Matter of fact, the cleaning lady isn't  
even allowed in that office."

'Why doesn't that surprise me?' Scully thought to herself.

"Thank you, Officer..." She readied herself to hang up and  
go break the first thing she could find. 

"I'll tell you what. I've got the interview transcripts at  
my desk, though. I was reviewing them just the other day.   
Its not everything, but it might give you some head way   
until you can get in touch with the Chief. Just meet me   
over at the station and I'll grab 'em for you right quick."

For the first time in several hours, Scully smiled. "Anyone  
ever told you you're a life saver, Foster?" 

"Oh, all the time, Agent." The officer chuckled and hung up  
his end of the line. 

 

\--------------------------------

 

Meeting with Foster was quick and easy. He explained that  
he needed to get back home for dinner with his wife and  
kids. "I'm so sorry to interrupt..." Scully genuinely   
felt guilty. 

"I'm happy to help." Foster smiled, but looked pensive for  
a moment. "Look, I know the Chief can be difficult. He   
doesn't like you, and that's not going to help anything,   
but not everyone who works here is like him. Just call if  
there's anything I can do for you." 

Scully nodded her thanks. "You worked for him long?" 

Foster nodded. "About five years, give or take. He does   
just fine, so long as everyone leaves him alone. I try to  
cut him some slack - he's got some issues. Divorced years  
back, but still bitter, and he's got a couple health issues.  
Used to be an alcoholic." 

Scully refrained from speaking any further about the man -  
none of these things made her feel any more sympathy   
toward him, but the last thing she needed was to alienate  
Foster. So far, he was the only person in Jefferson who   
seemed to exhibit any want to solve this case. 

Walking back to her car, something ocurred to her. "How   
long have you lived here, Foster?" 

"My whole life, ma'am." That smile was back again. 

"Did you know the victims at all?" She knit her brows  
against the late afternoon sun. 

"No, not really. Couple of them got into trouble every  
now and then. You know, the party type. Allison worked   
over at the diner for awhile, so I saw here there pretty  
often. That's it, though. Don't really know anything about  
any of them, except for that they weren't born here.   
I haven't seen all the files, but I can tell you that   
nobody I've talked to in town knows what those girls did  
in their spare time." 

Scully was already deep in thought. "Thank you for all   
your help, Foster. I'll see you later." 

 

\----------------------------------

 

The transcripts didn't yield much for Scully in the way  
of answers. The family members interviewed for each   
victim displayed different levels of sorrow, but they  
all shared one thing in common: none of them had spoken  
to their girls in quite some time. None of the families  
were aware of whether the women were seeing someone and  
two of the families weren't even aware the women were  
in Texas. It was like they'd disappeared off the map.   
Writing out her list for the next day, Credit Card   
records were the first thing on her list. If she was   
lucky, they were in the most-coveted files. 

Sighing in frustration, Scully leaned her head back   
against her headboard and closed her eyes. She briefly   
thought about switching B & B's in the morning. What had  
seemed like a luxurious stay had morphed into something of  
a disaster, and the tastefulness of the room almost made   
her throw up. Closing her eyes, though, she noticed that   
the matress was of particular comfort to her exhausted   
bones. 

Thinking she could be like Mulder for a moment, she tried   
to picture the killer. What did he look like? He killed   
young women, so was likely relatively young: young enough   
to keep up with them. Faces flashed before her eyes in rapid   
succession, each one of a young man posessing of different   
features. They were all young, overgrown and dirty men, hard   
worked and rough around the edges. Though their faces were   
youthful, they lacked the innocence and freedom one   
typically associated with young men. They were the types of   
boys who left school and worked labor instead. They'd curse   
at their mother and rot their teeth for all the chewing   
tobacco in the world.

And then it was black, quiet, nothingness, as she felt   
herself slide into the comforting pool of sleep. Drifting  
from consciousness, she now saw no faces, but in the   
distance she could hear a voice coming closer. In her   
mind, she urged it to stop - she needed her sleep, damnit!  
It was an angry voice, but indecipherable. The whoosh of   
air was all around her; She must be outside. For a moment,  
she wondered how she got outside, but her lids were too   
heavy to open her eyes. Suddenly, twigs and bushes were   
snapping all around her as the voice came close enough to   
hear clearly. 

"Is the bitch dead?" The voice whooped, obnoxious and   
drunk on adrenaline - maybe drunk on something else, too.   
The man was fairly shouting, and she thought she could hear   
several other footsteps in the brush around her. Still,   
she couldn't muster the energy to open her eyes, and   
instead closed them tightly, willing the man and whoever  
came with him to leave her alone.

"Naw, she ain't dead. I can see her breathin'... She   
just thinks we're too stupid to see she's playin' dead."  
Another voice spoke loudly. The voice was heavily   
accented in Southern fashion, and nasal. 

Feeling a nudge in her side, likely from a steel-toed   
boot, she closed her eyes more tightly. But a cold   
whisper from abover her chilled her to the bone. 

"C'mon, little bitch. Open those blue eyes for me... I   
know you're afraid." 

A swift kick to her side with the steel-toed boot sent   
an excruciating pain across her rib cage, and forced  
her eyes open to see several figures standing above her,   
but their faces were blackened, obscured by the overly-  
dark night air. Was it night air, or was she floating?   
She really couldn't tell. She could see no eyes, but could   
feel theirs boaring into her. 

"Well, now... You boys think I shot her up good?" That   
obnoxious voice was back. "I think I better get her again,  
just in case. Don't want anyone puttin' up a fight, do we?" 

She could see the glint of the pistol as he raised his   
arm, and she faught to cover her face, but her arms were   
leaden and refused to move. 

"Oh, don't be afraid. I'll wait for later before I ruin   
your pretty little face..." 

And with the blast of the pistol, Scully shot up in bed,  
covered in sweat and ready to bolt from the building. She  
was at the door before her mind began to process her dream.  
Willing her breathing to slow, she noticed that her cell  
phone had been ringing, and startled to catch it. 

"Mulder..." She whispered as she flipped through the   
papers strewn about her bed to find the phone. 

Taking a second to compose herself, she then answered the  
phone. "Scully." She swiped at her face, and noticed the  
tears coarsing down her cheeks. Rubbing them away   
angrily, she willed herself to calm down. 

"You ok, Scully?" His voice was so very comforting, and   
she could feel the adrenaline pumping itself out of   
her system. 

"I'm fine..." She cleared her throat. "I was sleeping,  
and it took me a minute to find the phone."

"How early can you be in Dallas to come get me?" 

Scully's heart lept. "You wrapped up the case?" She  
couldn't help her obvious excitement. 

Mulder chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Yeah. The asshole   
played right into our hands. It was a clean pick-up.   
You'll be happy to know that he asked where the hot   
little redhead was. He'd been hoping she would be   
there to handcuff him."

Scully snorted derisively. "I'll let her know." 

"Anyway, I've got a flight coming in a 6 am. Can you be  
there to get me?" 

Scully almost cried at the three hour drive to get there.   
She couldn't help but feel that she'd spent the entire   
case thus far in a car. Her dream withstanding, she   
wouldn't be sleeping. "Yeah... I'll be there." 

"You sure?" It seemed he could always pick up the nuances,  
even with her face thousands of miles away from his. "I  
could always rent another car..." 

"No, Mulder... the bureau will never pay for it. I'll be  
there, and I can nap on the way back." She tried to smile.

"Thank you, Scully." She could almost feel his   
hesitation. "I can't wait to see you." 

Now she really did smile. "Me, too. Get some sleep, Mulder."  
Wanting to rant about the last two days of the case, she   
held tight to her tongue. She would catch him up on   
everything in the morning - there was no sense getting him  
worked up prematurely. 

They didn't exchange goodbyes, just hung the phones up.  
Scully moved back into position against her headboard,   
ready to wait out the few hours before she'd need to leave   
to get Mulder. Her conversation with him had centered her,   
and left her feeling calm, despite her terrifying dream. 

How would she tell Mulder about the dream? It had her   
thinking. As much as she didn't believe in phrophetic   
dreams, hers had left her with a new sort of insight.   
What if these murders were comitted by more than one   
person? It would explain the general lack of patterns -  
the age differences in victims, the varying types of   
torture. 

The dream had left her dropped by adrenaline and more   
exhausted than she'd started, but pictures were now   
flying in her head. Her negative feelings about he case   
hadn't exactly left her, but Mulder's presence would  
surely bring some balance to the otherwise upside-down  
case. The sleepless night couldn't end quickly enough. 

 

\-----------------------------

 

Looking up at the single lit window, he could see her  
faint shadow from the street and wished he could see  
more. She was a real piece of work, wasn't she? Not at  
all what he'd been expecting the bureau to send. 

Taking care that he wasn't watched, he made his way   
silently to her car, scanning the front of the carriage  
house for any witnesses. Satisfied that he was alone   
on the street, he pulled up a windshield wiper and   
almost lovingly placed the stuffed animal behind it.   
From the windshield, the bear smiled up at him   
innocently, not at all like the harbinger of danger   
and warning he was meant to be. The chocolate was a  
nice touch. 

He thought she was prettier than all the rest; Than   
any he'd ever seen. Something in the back of his mind  
wanted to keep her. He'd never had a redhead before.   
Licking his lips, he felt his erection growing and   
nudging up against his zipper. He couldn't help but   
be excited by the thought of her frightened blue eyes  
staring up at him, glowing in the night and radiating a  
primal terror so intimate it made him crazy. She had   
amazing eyes. He forced himself away from the car.   
He'd need to get going if he wanted to remain unseen. 

She was the best yet, but she was surely like all the  
rest. 

 

\------------------------------------

 

"They weren't born here..." Foster's words during their   
earlier conversation rang through her head on repeat.   
"All I know is that they weren't born here...", he'd   
said, shrugging his shoulders disinterestedly. While   
sitting atop her bed, eagerly awaiting 3am so that she   
could finally have an excuse to do something, She'd laid  
her head back, allowing details of the case to buzz in   
her head, hoping for the off-chance that some break-  
through might happen. Tapping her finger against the   
casefile lying in her lap, Scully thought she must look   
like a junkie jonesing for a fix. she couldn't find an   
appropriate outlet for her excess energy. 

"They weren't born here..." she repeated the words to   
herself, aloud this time. While the phrase hadn't left   
much of an impression on her at the time, she was stuck   
on it now. Ruminating on what Paul had said about   
locals not wanting anything to do with those who weren't   
born here, she couldn't help but wonder at the strange  
parallel. 

"There's got to be something there..." She whispered to   
herself again. 

In desperation, she flipped through her paperwork one   
more time, hoping that something new and unread might  
magically fall out. Short of breaking into the Police   
Department, she wouldn't be getting any new files   
right this moment. Between her professional frustration  
and lack of sleep, she felt deranged enough to try, but  
her rationalism was ingrained and hard-wired to protect  
her from self-sabotage. Mostly. 

"C'mon little bitch..." The voice of her dream floated   
through her thoughts, and she shuddered. The dream   
kept tugging at her, pulling her back to it. Her gut   
said it meant something, but her general disposition of  
skepticism warred with her gut feeling. There was more   
than one killer. But how did she know there was one   
killer? No courtroom in America would accept the   
rambling dreams of an investigator as hard evidence in   
the case of multiple, brutal murders. Lives held in the  
balance, and all...

Finally deciding that her ass could handle no more of   
her wedged position against the headboard, Scully rose   
from the bed and glanced the clock: 2:15 am. It was time  
to give up on waiting. She'd need to kill 45 minutes if   
she didn't want to find somewhere to wait in Dallas. 

Walking to look for a fresh suit, her want for   
professionalism was slaughtered at the sight of the worn   
jeans hanging out of her suitcase. The suits hanging in   
the closet were a mass of neutral colors and flattering  
designs in unflexible fabrics, whereas the late hour had  
turned her jeans into worn old friends calling to her   
in glee. Deciding that a suit was not expressly necessary   
at 3am, she detoured to the suitcase, then reveled in   
the feeling of rebellion that came with the slide of jeans   
and a t-shirt onto her body. 

Taking a glance out the window, Scully studied the   
deserted street. No soul was in sight, and the moon was   
still high, casting a brilliant glow on the neighborhood.  
The beauty of the street was interrupted by the unnerving  
feeling that someone stared back at her from below. She   
half expected to see red eyes gazing back at her from the   
hedges across the street. The vision in her head was a   
relic of her past - all those 80's horror films come back  
to torture her. She sighed, mostly for the benefit of   
making some noise in the dismally quiet room, and jammed   
her weapon into its holster at her hip. Being sure to   
gather up her files in their entirety, she walked out   
the door, and fumbled awkwardly to lock the room with the   
old skeleton key.

Scully felt like she was a teenager again, tip-toeing   
down the stairs, anxious to avoid any creaking or   
shuffling sounds. The last thing she needed was another   
run-in with Mrs. White. She silently re-thanked herself   
for her wardrobe choice. Her padded autopsy sneakers   
allowed her to move far more sleathily than a pair of   
'take me now' pumps. Making it to the bottom of the   
stairs without incident, she peeked over the railing   
into the darkened foyer, and was startled to see a   
slumbering figure on the couch. She was surprised that   
she hand't heard him as she came down, as the volume of   
his snoring was giving new meaning to the term 'sawing   
logs'. The lump of a body was oversized and beefy, from   
what she could see. He appeared to be grossly overweight,  
and she could hear the slapping wheeze of sleep apnea. 

Mrs. White had mentioned that her husband worked with her.   
Not at all interested in meeting him, Scully made quick  
work of the walk across the foyer to the front door.   
This was the easy part - years of covert operations in   
and out of quiet, tight spaces had taught her how to   
open and close a door noiselessly. 

Her feeling of freedom intensified in the cooler night  
air. Walking around the side of the house, she wondered  
if tourists received the same treatment she'd experienced  
from the locals. Perhaps there was a bigger reason to why   
the town was rarely full enough to book their B & B's   
solid? 

Still shadowed by the looming house behind her,   
Scully was alarmed to see something sitting atop her   
windshield. Was it an animal of some sort? Maybe an   
injured bird, she thought... As she neared her vehicle,  
though, she could see the moonlight glinting off of   
plastic beading and a box. Carefully skimming the   
street surrounding her, she saw no sign of anyone, but   
her uneasy feeling led her to unholster her weapon and   
remove the safety. Finally reaching the car, she could   
see that the item was a teddy bear, stuffed under the   
blade of her drivers' side windshield wiper. In any other   
situation, the bear would be perfectly adorable, his sweet   
face smiling up at her amiably. She could see a small box  
poised in the bear's lap, but mostly obscured under the   
wiper blade.

Deciding that she'd never be able to lift prints off of   
a plush bear, she carefully retrieved the stuffed animal   
from beneath the blade, noting that its fabric was not   
cheap - rather soft, and high end like the bears her mother   
used to buy her from the China Shop in San Diego. Maybe  
Chenile. As the bear came out from behind the wipers, she  
noticed that the small box was tethered to the stuffed   
animal by only a flimsy string, and the box dangled from   
the bear's body. Unlike the bear, the box was hardened   
plastic, decorated a sky blue with a large white stripe,   
like a Tiffany box. 

Setting the bear down on the hood of the car, careful to  
avoid contact with the box, Scully cast one more glance   
down the street before she returned the safety to her   
weapon and re-holstered it. She then hurriedly opened her   
car door. Stretching over the driver's side seat, she   
reached for the box of evidence bags she was always sure   
to stuff into the glove compartment of whatever rental car   
she might have. In a stroke of luck, she noticed a small   
utility flashlight also tucked into the compartment and   
snatched it up. 

The sound of a repetitive clicking noise startled her   
on the way out of the car, and the chilling sense of   
being watched ran down Scully's spine in earnest, the   
hairs eagerly rising on her arms while she extracted   
herself from the vehicle. Another sweep of the street   
revealed no watcher, but the shadows were plenty amid   
the rows of trees and fencing in the residential area. 

Forcing her breathing back into a slow, even rhythm, she   
turned back to the bear, still splayed on the hood of   
the car. Pulling an evidence bag from her cache she'd  
brought from the car, she folded the evidence bag over   
her hand like a glove, then made quick work of the lid   
on the small box. Bringing the flashlight around to peer   
into the box, she was surprised to find three chocolate   
truffles placed inside. They weren't the knock-offs one   
bought at the drugstore in impulse. They were specialty,   
wrapped in an expensive red paper and unlabled. Looking   
farther, she could see a small square of paper folded up   
against the side of the box. 

Careful to avoid marring any evidence, Scully used her  
"bagged" hand to fish out the paper. She first dropped   
the opened box into the used evidence bag, then   
retrieved another, which she placed over her hand to   
open the note. 

Scully's first thought was that the perp was more   
intelligent than she might have given him credit for.   
the note was type-written, in plain, bold lettering:

"And out came a woman to meet him,  
dressed like a prostitute and with crafty intent.  
She is unruly and defiant,  
her feet never stay at home;  
now in the street, now in the squares,  
at every corner she lurks."

"Proverbs..." She whispered. Intrigued and supplied   
with new ideas to chew on, she hurriedly dropped the   
note into the second evidence bag, gathered up her   
newfound items, and jumped into the car, still   
shuddering with the unnerving sensation of eyes   
following her as she pulled out of her parking space   
and onto the quiet street. 

 

\--------------------------

 

On the way out of town, Scully was drawn to the   
bright lights of the local diner like a moth to   
flame. The flourescents inside the heavily glassed  
structure shone along the streetway in a most   
attractive way. Even more attractive was the open   
view of the large espresso machine puffing away at  
the counter. Unable to resist the lure of caffeine,   
she pulled to the side of the road and practically   
skipped into the diner. 

Faintly hearing the chime of the bell on the door,  
her eyes were instantly glued to the single waitress  
at the bar, leaned over the counter near the cash  
register and engrossed in a book. The woman was   
middle-aged, perhaps in her mid fifties. She was   
pleasantly plump, with a sweet face and dull, box-  
blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her name-  
tag identified her as "Sheila". Finishing her passage   
in her book, she looked up at Scully with a wan   
smile, no doubt to do with working in a silent diner   
at 3 am. 

"What can I do for you, hon?" Her voice was soft,   
with a lilting accent more the likes of a native   
Georgian than a Lousiana honey. 

"I'll take the biggest cup of espresso you have." 

The look of desperation on Scully's face must have   
reached the other woman. She openly laughed and   
turned to fill her order. "Long night ahead, huh?" 

Scully scoffed, "Something like that... " 

The espresso machine sputtered and steamed as it   
poured the multitude of espresso shots into the   
large cup wielded by the waitress. "What's your   
poison - milk, soy, half and half?"

Scully thought for a moment. "Oh, what the hell -  
give me the half and half." 

Sheila smiled again. "Girl like you doesn't need to   
worry, you're so pretty and thin." 

Scully stared blankly for a second, unsure of what  
to say, but settling for a simple "Thank you". 

"You're here about those murders, aren't you?" 

As the coffee was slid across the counter towards her,  
Scully reached for a bowl of sugar packets, fished   
out three packets and hurriedly began pouring them   
into her drink. 

She cleared her throat. "Yes, I am. What have you   
heard about them?" 

The waitress shook her head. "Not much, really. Just   
what the newspaper's printed. Some local girls found   
murdered in gruesome ways. It makes me so angry,   
though... I didn't really know any of those girls, but  
Allison used to work nights here. She was such a   
sweet little thing, always real nice with the   
customers. I miss her." 

Scully took in the waitress's words with interest.   
"Do you know if she was seeing anyone? Who she spent  
her free time with?" 

Sheila thought for a moment, nibbling on her bottom   
lip. "No, not really. She didn't really talk   
about much. She was real excited, though - she was   
getting ready to move out of here. She'd always be   
talking about how moving here was the biggest mistake  
she ever made. She was planning on surprising her   
mama when she rolled back home... Next month, I think.  
I can't imagine her mama...." She trailed off,   
sniffling with unshed tears. 

"So she didn't like it here?" 

The waitress shook her head. "No, she hated it. Said  
she thought small-town life was what she'd always   
wanted, but then she couldn't get the money together  
to get back out when she way ready."

Scully nodded. "Any idea why she disliked the town?"

Sheila nodded emphatically. "She wasn't treated very  
well 'round here. Lots of women in the town seemed  
to be real threatened by her. Called her names behind  
her back, made sure she wasn't invited to anything   
social... that sort of thing."

"Have you experienced any of this behavior yourself?"  
Scully raised her eyebrows. 

"Oh, yes." Shiela diverted her gaze. "Although none   
of it directed at me, really. I don't have any friends,  
But I'm a chunky gal who just turned 50 - no one   
thinks I'm gonna steal their husband." 

"Is that what someone accused Allison of?" 

Shiela thought for a moment. "Yeah. Lots of the wives  
'round town thought she was out to steal men. I think  
they were just jealous of her youth and beauty, but  
she was really quite innocent."

"Any names you can give me for these women? Was there  
someone who seemed to be more... emphatic than the  
others?"

"Not in particular... They're all pretty unfriendly.  
But they're all part of the same bridge club. They   
play at the local high school every Friday night."

"You're not from around here, are you?" 

The waitress smiled. "No, I'm from South Carolina. I  
moved here because I love the lake. I can see why   
Allie didn't like it, though... Its not real friendly  
'round here. I just figure that the local gals don't  
like outsiders. They all grew up together, so I can  
understand." She was staring at the counter absently.  
"I'm used to being alone, but a young think like   
that..."

Scully put the lid back on her coffee. "Thank you,   
Sheila. You've been very helpful." 

Sheila waved her off. "Oh, you're sweet. I was just  
ranting on you... You have a pleasant drive, now."   
The woman smiled, but it seemed a little duller than  
it had when Scully first walked into the diner. 

Nodding her thanks one more time, Scully quietly   
walked from the diner and back to her car, wondering  
at the enlightening, if disturbing night she'd had   
thus far. 

 

\--------------------------

 

By the time she reached Dallas, Scully was certain   
she would vomit if she had to spend any more time in  
the car. She couldn't recall ever spending more time   
driving during a case. In fact, she'd spent more time  
driving than investigating. Her espresso hadn't   
settled well, leaving the acid crawling the walls   
of her stomach lining. 'But, I didn't fall asleep at   
the wheel...', she thought, popping two antacids she'd   
found in the console of her rental vehicle. 

The multitude of conversations she'd had regarding the  
town culture in Jefferson had left her concerned for  
the direction of the case. It was difficult to weed   
out a suspect amongst so many inflammatory characters,  
as well as the assertions that the town was just "that  
way". Reminding herself to stop at the terminal gift   
shop to find a Bible, Scully pondered whether the   
killer might be a religious fanatic. It was difficult   
to say, as most small towns were largely religious,   
and knowledge of scripture was hardly an indictment. 

The terminal of the airport was already in full swing  
as Scully made her way to Mulder's gate. More evidence  
that the world no longer sleeps, she thought. It wasn't  
even 6 am yet. Wandering past a Starbuck's, she resisted  
the urge to add more coffee on top of her already   
simmering stomach. 

The gift shop was always an easy establishment to find,   
its open floor plan and pleasant lighting calling to her   
from across the gate. Heading right to the reading   
materials, the Bibles were also easy to locate. Taking   
cost into consideration, but also wishing to spare her   
eyes the torture of trying to read a pocket Bible, she   
opted for the New King James travel-sized edition. 

A quick trip to the cash register, and she was on her  
way to Mulder's departure gate, new Bible in tow. Perching   
herself on the edge of one orange bucket seat, awaiting his   
arrival, she perused her intended scripture while she   
waited. Scully squinted as she skimmed Proverbs for the   
correct passage. She was almost certain she remembered it.   
"Ah hah...." She whispered under her breath as she came   
across the words she was looking for. She recognized the   
difference in translations from the passage left on her   
car. "So, he has a newer translation," She whispered to   
herself while she began reading: 

"My son, keep my words,  
And treasure my commands within you.  
Keep my commands and live,  
And my law as the apple of your eye.  
Bind them on your fingers;  
Write them on the tablet of your heart.  
Say to wisdom, “You are my sister,”  
And call understanding your nearest kin,  
That they may keep you from the immoral woman,  
From the seductress who flatters with her words.

For at the window of my house  
I looked through my lattice,  
And saw among the simple,  
I perceived among the youths,  
A young man devoid of understanding,  
Passing along the street near her corner;  
And he took the path to her house  
In the twilight, in the evening,  
In the black and dark night.

And there a woman met him,  
With the attire of a harlot, and a crafty heart.  
She was loud and rebellious,  
Her feet would not stay at home.  
At times she was outside, at times in the open square,  
Lurking at every corner.  
So she caught him and kissed him;  
With an impudent face she said to him:  
“I have peace offerings with me;  
Today I have paid my vows.  
So I came out to meet you,  
Diligently to seek your face,  
And I have found you.  
I have spread my bed with tapestry,  
Colored coverings of Egyptian linen.  
I have perfumed my bed  
With myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon.  
Come, let us take our fill of love until morning;  
Let us delight ourselves with love.  
For my husband is not at home;  
He has gone on a long journey;  
He has taken a bag of money with him,  
And will come home on the appointed day.”

With her enticing speech she caused him to yield,  
With her flattering lips she seduced him.  
Immediately he went after her, as an ox goes to the slaughter,  
Or as a fool to the correction of the stocks,  
Till an arrow struck his liver.  
As a bird hastens to the snare,  
He did not know it would cost his life.

Now therefore, listen to me, my children;  
Pay attention to the words of my mouth:  
Do not let your heart turn aside to her ways,  
Do not stray into her paths;  
For she has cast down many wounded,  
And all who were slain by her were strong men.  
Her house is the way to hell,  
Descending to the chambers of death."

 

"Hey!" Mulder's voice broke through her reading, and  
she jumped in her bucket seat. "You were really engrossed,  
there..."

She looked up to see his grinning face. His smile was like  
a balm, and she immediately felt her mood lighten, as she  
flashed him a toothy smile in return. She was relieved to   
see that he was also dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She'd  
always thought it was a travesty to waste an ass like his on   
dress pants. "Oh, believe me... You're going to be engrossed,   
too." 

As she stood, she blushed while he appraised her frankly, his   
expressive eyes taking in every nuance of her appearance. She  
only wished she didn't look like a harried soccer mom at that  
precise moment. She surmised that it was the price one payed  
for wearing the most comfortable jeans in the world.

He leaned forward for a hug, his arms spreading out to   
engulf her. Before she could stop herself, her shoulders   
tensed as his arms came around her, and the regret was instant.  
What the hell was wrong with her? She reminded herself it   
was just a hug, but she could feel the caffeine swirling   
around her head like she'd been to a vodka party. 'Bad  
analogy', she thought. When she drank vodka, her name was  
Jessica, and sometimes Jessica had no reverence for Dana's  
need to keep her street cred... She almost giggled, but   
instead allowed herself to finally melt into Mulder's   
embrace. 

As he leaned back to take her in, she caught the look of   
disappointment on his face. The awkward silence that   
overtook them was palpable. 

Scully cleared her throat. "I'm sorry... I don't know   
what's wrong with me." Her voice was low, and she averted  
her gaze. 

"You're tired." He spoke plainly. "Its ok. Let's get   
this show on the road... I have a feeling I have a lot of   
catching up to do."

 

\---------------------------------

 

"What's this?" Mulder gestured to the evidence bags in   
the passenger seat, picking them up as he made himself  
comfortable in the seat. 

After Scully had gotten her seatbelt on and the key in   
the ignition, she sighed. "That's the first thing we need  
to talk about. The perp has made contact."

Mulder looked taken aback. "When did this happen? Are you  
alright?" 

Scully nodded. "I'm alright... I'm a little shaken. I came  
down to my car this morning, feeling like there were a   
million eyes on me, and found those items jammed under   
my driver's side windshield wiper. First, read the note."

As she pulled out of the terminal parking lot, Mulder was  
fixedly staring at the type-written note. She watched out  
of the corner of her eye as his glance was split between  
the bear, the box (which he opened, then huffed when he   
saw the chocolate), and the note.

He shook his head. "You know scripture better than I do,   
Scully... what's the context for this?" 

"Well... its part of a parable in which Christ warns   
against the adulterous woman." She pointed at the Bible   
sitting in the console. "Read that; its the whole   
passage. Its a little intriguing that he chose to narrow  
in on those verses only." 

Muler read the text whole-heartedly, and Scully could see  
him go back for a second read out of the corner of her eye.  
He raised his eyebrows, staring at her from across the  
console. "The plot thickens... Any signs that he might be  
a religious fanatic?" 

Scully shook her head. "I don't think so. It was the first  
thought I had after I found the verse, but nothing about   
the bodies or the crime scenes would suggest that religion  
had anything to do with his MO."

"But it might have something to do with WHY he does it...  
Why he believes what he does." 

"Did you read the copies of the files on your way down?"  
Scully asked. 

He nodded affirmatively. "I did. They were rather... brief,  
though. Why would Kersh send you on a case with so little  
available information?"

"That's what I've been wondering. Plus, its the strangest   
damn town I've ever seen. I told you the Chief of Police   
strongly dislikes me?"

Mulder nodded his head in the affirmative. 

"Well, the son of a bitch has conveniently been 'out of   
the office' every time I've made an effort to pick up his  
files on the case. Meanwhile, I've got nothing to go on,   
save for some interesting conversations." 

"What do you think his problem is?" 

"Well, the County Coroner used to work as an officer   
when the Chief was young. He described him as extremely   
selfish and demeaning of fellow officers. He also has a  
long history of hatred towards women, including several  
nasty divorces." 

"Hm... Sounds like a classic Old Boys Club case to me,  
Scully." Mulder shrugged, but his look of concern was   
strong. "Could he be a suspect? Maybe he has a true   
agenda for with-holding the files." 

"Well, wait until you see the people in this town." Scully  
gesticulated wildly while she pulled onto the highway.   
"The downtown is an entire row of Bed and Breakfast joints.   
The town is the Bed and Breakfast capital of Texas...   
Literally. Its full of uber-conservative women who look  
like stepford wives and won't talk to anyone who wasn't   
born there. I spoke with a co-worker of one of the victims  
this morning, and she indicated that the girl hated it   
here - she was planning on moving, because the women   
bullied her on a consistent basis." 

"Is there any evidence of any of this?" 

"Unfortunately, no. All I have to go on are these few  
conversations and the autopsy reports. We'll discuss those  
when we can sit down and look at some photos. The good news,   
though - these women who allegedly bullied these girls   
are all part of the same bridge club. They meet tomorrow   
night, so we can get them all at the same time for   
questioning. We've got to get those files, though, Mulder.   
I've got a feeling there's something big, here. "

"What makes you think that?" Mulder raised his eyebrows,  
and Scully couldn't help but feel like she was being   
analyzed. 

"I think the fact that the killer has made contact this  
early on in the investigation indicates that he's   
attentive, to say the least. More than that, the placement  
of the bodies and his form of contact with me seems to   
say that he's also pretty brazen. Now, I'm not a profiler,  
but I think there's some urgency, here." 

"I would agree with that." Mulder nodded, clearly thinking.  
"You've probably got a sociopath, maybe a narcissist. I'm  
not sure of the particulars yet. I think the 'gift' on   
your car this morning is a little disconcerting. I think   
he likes you."

Scully fixed him with a heavy glare, her rebuke plain to  
see. "And what do you base that on?" 

"The fact that he went out of his way to get you expensive  
chocolate. I think the note was meant to scare you, and   
to maybe expose himself a little to you. But the teddy   
bear and chocolate were because he's attracted to you. I  
think you need to be careful." His voice was stragely   
calm, and she could see that he was in full profiler   
mode. 

"Well, that might jive with the evidence. All of the   
victims were killed by strangulation. What's odd, though,   
is that the torture mechanism differed from victim to   
victim. The level of overkill, however, suggested extreme   
anger in all cases. Like I said, I've got some things to   
discuss on that front, but I'd like you to see the photos.   
I'm also waiting for a call back on some evidence that I   
think could really move this thing forward. In fact, since  
I've resigned myself to the fact that I WILL spend the   
rest of my life in this damned car, I think I'm going to  
take a detour and stop in Beaumont. We can pop in and see  
Paul in person, have him send off the bear, note, and   
chocolate for analysis. We could use some breakfast   
anyway."

"Wait, who's Paul?" Mulder looked at her like she'd grown  
a second head.

He noted that she was smiling for the first time since her   
dazzling smile back at the airport. "He's the County Coroner  
I told you about. You'll like him." 

Mulder quietly took her in from his side of the vehicle.  
He was right - he had a lot of catching up to do with   
the case. But, he was a little startled by how much   
catching up he had to do with his partner. Though he'd  
never say it to her, she looked terrible. It wasn't a  
"bad" terrible, but he could see her exhaustion. Had she  
slept at all the last few days? 

"Scully, are you ok?" He let his concern bleed through  
his expression. 

Scully took him in for a moment in fleeting glances   
shared with the road before she spoke. "I'm fine, Mulder...   
Just a little tired and frustrated."

"You just seem a little... off the rails." Mulder chose  
his words carefully. "It seems like something might be  
bothering you." 

"I'm bothered by the whole case, and my lack of progress.  
Did I tell you the press may be getting involved? Rumor  
has it that a writer from Dallas is arriving any day   
now." 

Mulder chuffed. "No, you hadn't mentioned that. What's  
the angle?" 

"None, so far as I can tell. I haven't seen any sign   
that he's in town yet, but the news had just hit the   
Sherriff's office when I got into town. It was creepy-  
an Officer showed up at my door unannounced and took me  
to the Police Station, BEFORE I'd been by to introduce  
myself. That was where the Chief told me that I'd need  
to go to the General Store for directions if I was an  
air-headed tourist." 

"He really said that to you?" At Scully's nod, he   
chuckled. "Stupid bastard..." 

 

\--------------------------

 

"Paul? Its Dana Scully." She spoke over her cell   
phone, attempting to pull the car off the highway at   
the same time. She didn't see Mulder gripping his   
arm-rests fearfully, wishing she'd laid off the   
coffee. When he'd said "off the rails", a car   
accident wasn't what he'd had in mind.

"Agent Scully! I was just getting ready to call you.   
Everything going ok?" His voice was boistrous and   
cheerful, the only way she'd heard it thus far. 

"Everything's fine, Paul. I assume you have some   
results for me?" 

"I do! And its going to knock your socks off, if I   
do say so myself."

Scully smiled widely. "Just what I wanted to hear.   
Listen, can you meet me at Mary's to discuss the   
results? My partner and I are on our way back from   
Dallas, and we'll need some breakfast anyhow, but I'd  
like to pick up a copy of the report from you while   
we're here." 

"I never turn down breakfast with a pretty lady.   
You on your way now?" She could hear him fumbling   
around his desk, papers and hard items shuffling. 

"I just pulled into town, but take your time. Like I  
said, we'll be ordering." 

"Oh, the bacon is calling to me now. I'll be there   
in ten minutes." She could hear the excitement in his  
voice and chuckled.

"Thank you, Paul." Scully smiled at his 'uh huh' and  
hung up her cell phone. 

As she turned to look at Mulder, she was startled to   
find him holding onto the handrail on the passenger   
side ceiling, looking distressed. 

"What's wrong with you?" She asked flippantly. 

"How many cups of coffee did you have this morning,   
Scully?" 

 

\-----------------------------

 

In his perpetual enthusiasm, Paul managed to pull up  
to the diner just as they were exiting the car. He  
swaggered up to the agents, his golden smile already  
plastered upon his face. Scully briefly wondered if   
he ever ran out of steam. 

Extending his hand out to Mulder, he didn't wait for  
Scully to introduce him. "Paul Fisher, glad to meet   
you." It was a firm handshake, and his words were   
spoken in a confident manner, reminding Mulder of a  
career politician. 

"I'm Agent Mulder. I hear you have some good news   
for us."

"That, I do!" Paul's smile broadened. "But all this  
talk of breakfast has gotten my appetite rolling...  
Let's go get some chow." 

Once inside, Mulder quietly asked the stewardess for  
a large booth in the back. At his conspiratorial   
tone of voice, the young woman looked at him as though  
he'd grown a third head. "We need to discuss business,  
I'm afraid." He explained. 

With his explanation, the girl nodded her head knowingly.  
"This is the County Seat. What with the Sheriff's   
office and all, we get your kind in here quite often.   
Follow me." 

'Your kind?' Mulder thought to himself, but nodded his  
gratitude as the stewardess lead them to a cordoned-off  
area, assumedly for large parties. It was not completely  
concealed from the rest of the dining area, but was   
blocked from prying eyes by a woven wood partition. The  
large table would be perfect for them to spread out   
their photos and files while they ate. 

"Thank you..." Mulder had to squint to read the young   
girl's nametag. "Shauna. I think we'd like to start   
with a couple caraffes of coffee, if you wouldn't mind."

Scully recognized his smile as the "I'm charming, so   
just go with it" look. It was a good one, she had to   
admit. The young stewardess dropped three menus on the  
table and declared that she'd be back to take the orders  
when she brought the coffee. 

 

\------------------------

 

"So, what have you got for us, Paul?" Scully asked as   
she chugged another cup of coffee. Mulder was eyeing her  
warily, reminding himself to take the car keys away from  
her ASAP. If only he could hide the coffee from her... 

"Well, you were right, Kiddo." Mulder wondered at the   
casual way Paul spoke with her. He had a brief thought  
that the man was completely unlike his position would  
lead him to be. "The blood on the ball bearing belonged  
to Ms. Ellie May."

"Ball bearing?" Mulder interjected. 

Splaying photos of Ellie May's bear back across the   
table, Scully gestured to the spotted bruising along   
the victim's spine. Small welts and some torn skin were  
also visible. 

"While perusing the crime scene, I came across this small  
ball bearing, lying on a ledge where two of the bodies   
were found. Paul has just confirmed my suspicion that   
the bearings were shot into at least one of the victims.  
But, you said you had something else on the phone?" Scully  
turned to the older coroner. 

"Yes. I took the liberty of having the BB analyzed for   
a type and manufacturer. Don't ask me how, but one of   
the analysts recognized the flattened ridge here on the   
bearing." Paul pointed to the groove on the enlarged photo  
of the ball bearing. "That groove isn't caused by impact   
on arrival, but rather by a ridge in a barrel at   
discharge. Its a signature mark left by a..." He stumbled  
while he searched for his place in the report. "A Crosman  
622."

"What's the significance of that?" Mulder leaned forward,  
genuinely curious. 

"Well, you can't track ballistics on a BB gun like you   
can a real gun. However, I can tell you that Crosmans   
were only manufactured in the 70's, which means that gun  
is older than the average toy." 

Mulder nodded, thinking. "So, the perp might not be a   
young man... or he might be a young man with an eyesore  
hand-me-down." 

Paul nodded. 

Scully sat in the corner, sipping on her coffee, and   
taking in Paul's evidence. It was yet another piece of  
the puzzle that didn't quite fit. She couldn't tamper  
down her earlier suspicion that there was something to  
her nightmare that night. She needed to tell Mulder   
that there may be more than one perp, but it hadn't   
seemed the right time yet. She certainly didn't want to  
discuss it in front of Paul. Perhaps when they'd gotten  
on the road again. 

Mulder and Paul were busy perusing the files, discussing  
various points in the autopsy results, and Scully was   
happy to allow Paul to do her job for her. Mulder seemed  
to like the man as much as she did. If she was honest   
with herself, Scully might fall asleep any moment. The  
night was finally catching up with her, and she could   
feel herself sinking deeper into her chair. 

 

\------------------------

 

At the sound of the soft snore, the two men put their   
forks down and turned their eyes from the autopsy photos  
to the sleeping woman in the corner. Mulder hadn't given  
much thought to why he hadn't heard Scully interject for  
a few moments, but had noticed her sitting in the corner  
away from the table, working on her 50th cup of coffee.   
Now, her coffee cup still propped up in her hands and   
sitting in her lap, her head was flopped back bonelessly  
against the wall while she quietly snored. Mulder had   
never told her so, but her ability to fall asleep   
anywhere was one of her most endearing qualities. 

"You just got in the morning, Mulder?" Paul asked him   
quietly. 

Mulder only nodded back at the older man. 

"There isn't a soul in that town who's asked her how she  
is the last couple days... I can guarantee that. She   
just needed you to come along and take care of her."  
Paul winked at Mulder. 

"You know, she'd kill you if she heard you talking like  
that." Mulder smiled slyly. 

"Oh, I know that." Paul clucked. "I used to be married   
to one just like her. She'd never say so, but every now  
and then she just needed someone else to take over for a  
couple hours." He older Coroner's eyes seemed wistful and  
far away. 

"She said you knew the Chief of Police in Jefferson?"

Paul nodded. "Oh, yes... and I'm sure she told you how I  
feel about him."

"Yes, She did. I think I'm going to go wrestle those files  
out of him today if I have to." 

 

\--------------------------------

 

Getting Scully into the car had taken no effort whatsoever.  
After waking her, she'd made it to the parking lot just   
in time to pour herself into the passenger side seat, and  
she'd pleasantly snored beside him all the way to   
Jefferson. Glancing over at her side of the car every few  
moments, he reveled in the opportunity to just look at   
her. It didn't happen often. 

Though they'd finally taken the plunge and begun sleeping  
together, he was entirely insecure in where he stood with  
her. They hadn't exactly sworn themselves to each other, and  
while he didn't want to be such a "girl" about things, he  
thought they were overdue for a talk. But when watching her  
sleep, he was reminded of how tiny and lovely she was, the  
two things she tried her damnedest to hide while at work. 

While the sex was more than satisfying, he most appreciated  
his new ability to see the hidden facet of Dana Scully. The  
woman she kept obscured was really nothing like the hardened  
agent she'd become. In fact, she was more playful than he'd  
imagined. He only wondered how the myriad rumors that flew  
across the bureau came to be. That she was rigid at work,   
he couldn't deny, but the accusation that she was a cold and  
frigid lover was completely unfounded, and likely the result  
of pissing off the biggest mouth at Quantico. But, rumors   
don't always go away, and eight or more years out of the   
academy, the same old fodder still kept the gossips well and  
alive. 

All joking about her driving set aside, he was concerned   
about her behavior. She seemed as though something was   
bothering her more than she'd been willing to say, obscured  
beneath a gallon or so of coffee and her anxiousness to   
move forward with the case. Wishing to offer her the   
opportunity to bring it up on her own, he cast his   
concern to the back-burner and resolved to enjoy the quiet  
before the storm. He was certain this case was about to   
explode.

 

\------------------------------

 

Just pulling into Jefferson, Mulder yawned into the back  
of his hand and adjusted himself in his seat. He regretted  
waking Scully, but wasn't sure where they were staying.   
He was relieved when her cell phone did the job for him  
and began chirping away in her pocket. 

Taking his eyes from the road for a split second, he   
tapped her nose when she didn't awake right away. Her   
irritated expression indicated that she wasn't quite ready  
to be up yet. Scully did not handle sleep deprivation well.

"Hey, sunshine!" He tried for his most obnoxiously cheeful  
voice, knowing that she'd wake up if only for the opportunity  
to sneer at him. "Better grab that call." 

From the corner of his eye, he watched while she rubbed her  
face before answering the phone, not even bothering to hide  
her fatigue. 

'This better be good,' Scully thought as she jabbed the   
"Send" button to answer the phone. "Scully." 

"Agent Scully, this is Sheriff Alan Cooke..." The man's   
voice was crackling somewhat across the weak signal. 

"Sheriff..." She cleared her throat. "What can I do for you?"

"I heard you were in Beaumont. I wish I'd been able to speak  
with you in person briefly." She could hear the disappointment  
in the man's voice. 

"I'm sorry, sir. We were in town only briefly, just to grab  
and meal and peruse the report on a piece of evidence with   
the County Coroner." 

"Yeah, Paul. He's one of the good guys! He's been sending me  
all information from his end of the investigation. I'm   
glad that Ball Bearing and blood turned up something. That  
was an excellent find, Agent." 

"Thank you, Sheriff. What was it you wanted to discuss with  
me?" She was anxious to get off the phone, but she didn't   
have it in her to be short with him. 

"Well, some bad news, I'm afraid..." Cooke's dismay was   
heard in his tone. "The reporter from Dallas is in Jefferson.  
Name's Jason Caldwell. He's a young puke, really a pain in   
the ass when he wants to be. I don't know what he has so far,  
but we need to only be as cooperative as we have to be. I   
would appreciate your discretion, Agent." 

Scully nodded into the phone. "As I said before, I understand.  
We'll be sure to keep any release vague. I just wish we knew   
who was responsible for calling him." 

"As do I. Have you gotten the files from Rusty yet?" 

Scully chuckled in frustration. "He's conveniently out of   
the office every time I go to get them. I'm hoping that   
sending my partner will alleviate any confusion on the   
matter, if you catch my drift." 

"I hear you loud and clear. You let me know if I need to   
kick him in the ass for you. I'm glad to hear that your   
partner's there - good to know you have some help. The   
offer still stands, though; I'm happy to help any way I  
can." 

"Thank you, Sheriff. We'll keep you apprised of any new   
developments." 

Pushing the "End" button and throwing the phone into   
the console, Scully ran her hands through her hair,   
attempting to push the sleepiness out of her face. She  
then noticed Mulder staring at her curiously. 

"Sorry." She grumbled. "That was the Sheriff. He had   
good news for us - The reporter from Dallas is in   
Jefferson today. Name's Caldwell. Cooke said he's nice  
and annoying."

"Great. I haven't even been in the town five minutes,  
and its already getting out of control. Let's get to the  
Bed and Breakfast. I'll get a room and change, and you  
can shower while I go beat those files out of the Chief.  
Maybe then we can start moving forward instead of   
backward." 

Scully nodded. "Just keep going straight. We're at the  
Carriage House, on the left. Its hard to miss." 

 

\----------------------------

 

He got a secret thrill from watching her during the day.   
Just standing in plain sight while the vehicle pulled up  
to the Carriage House. He'd been so excited to watch her  
receive her gift the night before. She'd known he was   
watching her, as he crouched behind a tree in a lawn   
across the way from her. 

Watching her tight little ass bend over the seat of the  
car while she looked for something had nearly cause him  
to black out... She was so damn sexy. He'd hoped she   
would taste one of the chocolates, but knew she would   
probably consider them as nothing more than evidence.   
If only she knew how expensive they were.

He was confused as he saw her get out of the passenger  
side door of the SUV. The driver was a tall man, dressed  
casually. She, herself, was in the same jeans and t-shirt  
she'd been in the night before. But she looked exhausted,  
seemingly lacking the energy to even walk into the house.   
Was he her partner? Or were they more?

If they were promised to each other, his plans would   
certainly change...

\----------------------------

 

"Paul? Its Dana Scully." She smiled to the older   
Coroner over the phone, while simultaneously   
attempting to pull the car off the highway at   
the same time. She didn't see Mulder gripping his   
arm-rests fearfully, wishing she'd laid off the   
coffee. Her head darted back and forth as she   
changed lanes and maneuvered through a round-  
about. When he'd said "off the rails", a car   
accident wasn't what he'd had in mind.

"Agent Scully! I was just getting ready to call you.   
Everything going ok?" His voice was boistrous and   
cheerful, the only way she'd heard it thus far.  
Mulder cocked his head, as he heard the echo of   
the jovial voice all the way on the other side of   
the car. 

"Everything's fine, Paul. I assume you have some   
results for me?" 

"I do! And I'm going to knock your socks off, if I   
do say so myself."

Scully smiled widely. "Just what I wanted to hear.   
Listen, can you meet me at Mary's to discuss the   
results? My partner and I are on our way back from   
Dallas, and we'll need some breakfast anyhow, but I'd  
like to pick up a copy of the report from you while   
we're here." 

"I never turn down breakfast with a pretty lady.   
You on your way now?" She could hear him fumbling   
around his desk, papers and hard items shuffling,  
amidst various "um" noises coming from the man   
himself. 

"I just pulled into town, but take your time. Like I  
said, we'll be ordering." 

"Oh, the bacon is calling to me now. I'll be there   
in ten minutes." She could hear the excitement in his  
voice and chuckled.

"Thank you, Paul." Scully smiled at his 'uh huh' and  
hung up her cell phone. 

As she turned to look at Mulder, she was startled to   
find him holding onto the handrail on the passenger   
side ceiling, looking distressed, and fixing her with  
an incredulous stare. 

"What's wrong with you?" She asked flippantly. 

"How many cups of coffee did you have this morning,   
Scully?" 

 

\-----------------------------

 

In his perpetual enthusiasm, Paul managed to pull up  
to the diner just as they were exiting the car. He  
swaggered up to the agents, his golden smile already  
plastered upon his face. Scully felt under-dressed as  
she noticed the Coroner's cleanly pressed suit and   
expensive tie, but reminded herself that he *was* an   
elected official. She briefly wondered if he ever ran   
out of steam. 

Extending his hand out to Mulder, he didn't wait for  
Scully to introduce him. "Paul Fisher, glad to meet   
you." It was a firm handshake, and his words were   
spoken in a confident manner, reminding Mulder of a  
ex-presidential candidate come university professor. 

"I'm Agent Mulder. I hear you have some good news   
for us."

"That, I do!" Paul's smile broadened. "But all this  
talk of breakfast has gotten my appetite rolling...  
Let's go get some chow." He whistled as he ran to  
grab the door for the agents. 

Once inside, Mulder quietly asked the hostess for  
a large booth in the back. At his conspiratorial   
tone of voice, the young woman looked at him as though  
he'd grown a third head. "We need to discuss business,  
I'm afraid." He explained. 

With his explanation, the girl nodded her head knowingly.  
"This is the County Seat. What with the Sheriff's   
office and all, we get your kind in here quite often.   
Follow me." 

'Your kind?' Mulder thought to himself, but nodded his  
gratitude as the hostess lead them to a cordoned-off  
area, assumedly for large parties. It was not completely  
concealed from the rest of the dining area, but was   
blocked from prying eyes by a woven wood partition. The  
large table would be perfect for them to spread out   
their photos and files while they ate. 

"Thank you..." Mulder had to squint to read the young   
girl's nametag. "Shauna. I think we'd like to start   
with a couple caraffes of coffee, if you wouldn't mind.  
And keep 'em coming, please."

Scully recognized his smile as the "I'm charming, so   
just go with it" look. It was a good one, she had to   
admit. The young stewardess dropped three menus on the  
table and declared that she'd be back to take the orders  
when she brought the coffee, gracing Mulder with an   
extra-sweet smile on her way out. 

 

\------------------------

 

"So, what have you got for us, Paul?" Scully asked as   
she chugged another cup of coffee. She was leaning against  
the table, elbows splayed against the surface, and looking  
ready to jump out of her own skin. She could hear her   
mother admonishing her in her head, but fiercely planted   
her elbows to the table, lest she pass out or take flight.  
She wasn't sure which would happen first. Mulder was eyeing   
her warily, reminding himself to take the car keys away   
from her ASAP. If only he could hide the coffee from her... 

"Well, you were right, Kiddo - the blood on the ball   
bearing belonged to Ms. Ellie May."

"Ball bearing?" Mulder interjected. 

Splaying photos of Ellie May's bare back across the   
table, Scully gestured to the spotted bruising along   
the victim's spine. Small welts and some torn skin were  
also visible. She winced when the waitress suddenly re-  
appeared, bringing one more jug-sized caraffe of coffee.   
The young girl blanched at the photos, obviously of a   
woman likely her same age, but she was a good sport. She  
quickly averted her eyes and set the coffee down,   
explaining that the food would be just a few moments. 

When the waitress was out of earshot, Scully continued.  
"While perusing the crime scene, I came across this small  
ball bearing, lying on a ledge where two of the bodies   
were found. Paul has just confirmed my suspicion that   
the bearings were shot into at least one of the victims.  
But, you said you had something else on the phone?" Scully  
turned to the older coroner. 

"Yes. I took the liberty of having the BB analyzed for   
a type and manufacturer. Don't ask me how, but one of   
the analysts recognized the flattened ridge here on the   
bearing." Paul pointed to the groove on the enlarged photo  
of the ball bearing. "That groove isn't caused by impact   
on arrival, but rather by a ridge in a barrel at   
discharge. Its a signature mark left by a..." He stumbled  
while he searched for his place in the report, adjusting   
his glasses. "A Crosman 622."

"What's the significance of that?" Mulder leaned forward,  
genuinely curious. 

"Well, you can't track ballistics on a BB gun like you   
can a real gun. However, I can tell you that Crosmans   
were only manufactured in the 70's, which means that gun  
is older than the average toy." 

Mulder nodded, thinking. "So, the perp might not be a   
young man... or he might be a young man with an eyesore  
hand-me-down." 

Paul nodded. 

"I've got something else for you to send out, Paul."   
Scully gestured toward the evidence bags containing   
the bear, box, and note. 

"I was wondering what was up with that. What happened?"

Scully recounted the story, showing Paul the note and   
Bible passage while the waitress arrived with their food.  
Looking amongst the spread, one might have thought a   
banquet was in order. A smattering of short-stacks, bacon,  
eggs, and hash-browns laid across the table in glorious   
fashion. Scully thought she might break into song as the  
first bite passed her lips. 

Paul shook his head in concern at the little Teddy Bear,  
while the innocent animal looked back at him with a smile.  
"I don't like this - this is creepy, Agent." 

Scully nodded her head in agreement. "We agree." She   
peered across the table at Mulder, who was busy stuffing  
his face. She was reminded that he was coming off a   
profiling case and a long flight. 

Around a mouth-full of food, Mulder adressed Paul.   
"Scully told me you used to work in Jefferson." He paused  
to swallow his food. "We have some indication that the   
victims were all bullied by the same group of women, who  
all belong to the same bridge club. Does that sound   
familiar to you?" 

Paul chuckled. "That Friday night bridge club is a town  
tradition. All of the wealthier local women were there   
every week. It doesn't have much to do with bridge -   
mostly just gossip." 

Scully interjected. "That makes sense. A witness says she   
noticed one of the victims constantly put down by the   
members of the group; She was accused of trying to steal   
their husbands."

"Well, I told you about the underlying conservatism in   
the town. I wouldn't be surprised if those women were a  
little paranoid."

At Mulder's obvious curiosity, Paul launched into the   
story of the town's history. It was the same story he'd   
told her, but she didn't balk. It was one less thing she  
would need to catch Mulder up on. Feeling a wave of nausea  
creeping up from her still-unsettled and now over-full   
stomach, she quietly took her chair and moved it to the   
corner of the small, partitioned room. This allowed her   
to lean her head back, but still listen in on the   
conversation. 

She watched the two men as they leaned over various files  
while they spoke and forced themselves to finish the   
left-over food splayed in front of them. She smiled as   
Mulder laughed with the older Coroner. She was glad he   
seemed to appreciate Paul's candor as much as she did.   
She'd have to remember to thank Paul later, for doing   
her job for her. 

 

\------------------------

 

At the sound of the soft snore, the two men put their   
forks down and turned their eyes from the autopsy photos  
to the sleeping woman in the corner. Mulder hadn't given  
much thought to why he hadn't heard Scully interject for  
a few moments, but had noticed her sitting in the corner  
away from the table, working on her 50th cup of coffee.   
Now, her coffee cup still propped up in her hands and   
sitting in her lap, her head was flopped back bonelessly  
against the wall while she quietly snored. Mulder had   
never told her so, but her ability to fall asleep   
anywhere was one of her most endearing qualities. Now,  
He was reminded how much he needed a nap, himself. 

"You just got in this morning, Mulder?" Paul asked him   
quietly. 

Mulder only nodded back at the older man. 

"There isn't a soul in that town who's asked her how she  
is the last couple days... I can guarantee that. She   
just needed you to come along and take care of her."  
Paul winked at Mulder. 

"You know, she'd kill you if she heard you talking like  
that." Mulder smiled slyly. 

"Oh, don't I know it." Paul clucked. "I used to be married   
to one just like her. She'd never say so, but every now  
and then she just needed someone else to take over for a  
couple hours." Thee older man's eyes seemed wistful and  
far away, and Mulder felt a pinge of sadness wash over   
him. 

"Well, if she was anything like Scully, she must have been  
very special." Mulder's voice was quiet. 

"Oh, but she was." Paul's smile was wide and knowing.  
"I think you've gotten what you came here for. Some damn  
good evidence, and one mother of a good breakfast. Let's  
get her up so you can be on your way. Its a long ride   
through to Jefferson, still." 

 

\--------------------------------

 

Getting Scully into the car had taken no effort whatsoever.  
After waking her, she'd made it to the parking lot just   
in time to pour herself into the passenger side seat, and  
she'd pleasantly snored beside him all the way to   
Jefferson. Glancing over at her side of the car every few  
moments, he reveled in the opportunity to just look at   
her. It didn't happen often, and he'd take what he could   
get - even if it was fleeting snapshots in between trying   
to not kill them. 

Though they'd finally taken the plunge and begun sleeping  
together, he couldn't help his outbursts of insecurity.   
They hadn't exactly sworn themselves to each other, and  
while he didn't want to be such a "girl" about things, he  
thought they were overdue for a talk. But when watching her  
sleep, he was reminded of how tiny and lovely she was, the  
two things she tried her damnedest to hide while at work. 

While the sex was more than satisfying, he most appreciated  
his new ability to see the hidden facet of Dana Scully. The  
woman she kept obscured was really nothing like the hardened  
agent she'd become. In fact, she was more playful than he'd  
imagined. He only wondered how the myriad rumors that flew  
across the bureau came to be. That she was rigid at work,   
he couldn't deny, but the accusation that she was a cold and  
frigid lover was completely unfounded, and likely the result  
of pissing off the biggest mouth at Quantico. But, rumors   
don't always go away, and eight or more years out of the   
academy, the same old fodder still kept the gossips well and  
alive. 

But he could satisfy himself knowing the 'little' things   
about her. Knowing that she had a strict schedule with the   
hairstylist, or that she was obsessive to the point of   
ironing her underwear and pajamas. I turned him on that she  
had, very likely, the largest supply of ice cream in the   
greater Washington area, but she looked so hot in lacy   
underthings it made him want to cry. He went crazy watching  
her shave her legs or pluck her eyebrows. He was sold. 

All joking about her driving set aside, he was concerned   
about her behavior. She seemed as though something was   
bothering her more than she'd been willing to say, obscured  
beneath a gallon or so of coffee and her anxiousness to   
move forward with the case. Wishing to offer her the   
opportunity to bring it up on her own, he cast his   
concern to the back-burner and resolved to enjoy the quiet  
before the storm. He was certain this case was about to   
explode.

 

\------------------------------

 

As he passed into the city limits of Jefferson, Mulder   
felt a yawn mounting - it was the kind that required full  
attention, taking over the entire body. Looking at the   
clock, his mood grew somewhat dismal when he saw it was   
just after noon. He regretted waking Scully, but wasn't   
sure where they were staying. He was relieved when her cell   
phone did the job for him and began chirping away in her   
pocket. 

Taking his eyes from the road for a split second, he   
tapped her nose when she didn't awaken right away. Her   
irritated expression indicated that she wasn't quite ready  
to be up yet. Scully never woke well, but he was sure of   
one thing - she wouldn't be having coffee anytime soon, if   
he could help it. 

"Hey, sunshine!" He tried for his most obnoxiously cheeful  
voice, knowing that she'd wake up if only for the opportunity  
to sneer at him. "Better grab that call." 

From the corner of his eye, he watched while she rubbed her  
face before answering the phone, not even bothering to hide  
her fatigue. 

'This better be good,' Scully thought as she jabbed the   
"Send" button to answer the phone. "Scully." 

"Agent Scully, this is Sheriff Alan Cooke..." The man's   
voice was crackling somewhat across the weak signal, but he  
was coming through clear enough for her to glean that he   
was not happy. . 

"Sheriff..." She cleared her throat. "What can I do for you?"

"I heard you were in Beaumont. I wish I'd been able to speak  
with you in person briefly." She could hear the disappointment  
in the man's voice. 

"I'm sorry, sir. We were in town only briefly, just to grab  
a meal and discuss the report on a piece of evidence with   
the County Coroner." 

"Yeah, Paul. He's one of the good guys! He's been sending me  
all information from his end of the investigation. I'm   
glad that Ball Bearing and blood turned up something. That  
was an excellent find, Agent." 

"Thank you, Sheriff. What was it you wanted to discuss with  
me?" She was anxious to get off the phone, but she didn't   
have it in her to be short with him. 

"Well, some bad news, I'm afraid..." Cooke's dismay was   
heard in his tone. "The reporter from Dallas is in Jefferson.  
Name's Jason Caldwell. He's a young puke, really a pain in   
the ass when he wants to be. I don't know what he has so far,  
but we need to keep a lid on what we can. We can't just ignore  
him, but I would appreciate your discretion, Agent." 

Scully nodded into the phone. "As I said before, I understand.  
We'll be sure to keep any release vague. I just wish we knew   
who was responsible for calling him." 

"As do I. Have you gotten the files from Rusty yet?" 

Scully chuckled in frustration. "He's conveniently out of   
the office every time I go to get them. I'm hoping that   
sending my partner will alleviate any confusion on the   
matter, if you catch my drift." 

"I hear you loud and clear. Like I said before, you let   
me know if I need to kick him in the ass for you. I'm   
glad to hear that your partner's there - good to know   
you have some help. The offer still stands, though; I'm   
happy to help any way I can." 

"Thank you, Sheriff. We'll keep you apprised of any new   
developments." 

Pushing the "End" button and throwing the phone into   
the console, Scully ran her hands through her hair,   
attempting to push the sleepiness out of her face. She  
then noticed Mulder staring at her curiously. 

"Sorry." She grumbled. "That was the Sheriff. He had   
good news for us - The reporter from Dallas is in   
Jefferson today. Name's Caldwell. Cooke said he's nice  
and annoying."

"Great. I haven't even been in the town five minutes,  
and its already getting out of control. Let's get to the  
Bed and Breakfast. I'll get a room and change, and you  
can shower while I go beat those files out of the Chief.  
Maybe then we can start moving forward instead of   
backward." 

Scully nodded. "Just keep going straight. We're at the  
Carriage House, on the left. Its hard to miss." 

 

\----------------------------

 

He got a secret thrill from watching her during the day;   
Just standing in plain sight while the vehicle pulled up  
to the Carriage House. He'd been so excited to watch her  
receive her gift the night before. She'd known he was   
watching her, as he crouched behind a tree in a lawn   
across the way from her. Feeling her fear as she searched  
the street for him drew him into a vacuum of pleasure.  
She was so tremendous to watch, he thought. 

Watching her tight little ass bend over the seat of the  
car while she looked for something had nearly cause him  
to black out... She was so damn sexy. She knew he was   
watching, and she teased him mercilessly, getting him  
worked up into a frenzy. He'd hoped she would taste one   
of the chocolates, but knew she would probably consider   
them as nothing more than evidence. If only she knew how   
expensive they were.

He was confused as he saw her get out of the passenger  
side door of the SUV. The driver was a tall man, dressed  
casually. She, herself, was in the same jeans and t-shirt  
she'd been in the night before. But she looked exhausted,  
seemingly lacking the energy to even walk into the house.   
Well, this was new... Who was he? Perhaps her partner? He  
hoped beyond hope that the man pulling his bags into   
the Carriage House was nothing more than her work partner.

If they were promised to each other, his plans might be  
ruined...

 

\----------------------------

Practically dragging herself into the Bed and Breakfast,  
Scully was startled to see that Mrs. White was not   
manning the foyer, as usual. Instead, the man she'd   
assumed to be her husband paced about, his face showing  
anxiety when she walked in through the front door. 

As she'd suspected from her limited view the night before,  
the man was very large. If she had to guess, he likely  
weighed in at 300 pounds or more. But unlike Mrs. White,   
his appearance was rumpled and casual. He slouched, and   
had an open face. Something was bothering him. 

"Agent Scully..." He approached her, and Scully could   
feel Mulder tensing behind her. "I'm glad I caught you.   
I'm Ed White, the owner of this establishment."

As the man reached his hand out to shake hers, she   
politely accepted it and turned to her partner. "Its a  
pleasure to meet you, Mr. White. This is my partner,   
Agent Mulder. He'll be needing a room for himself, if   
you have one." 

Ed smiled. "Of course! I'm happy to accomodate. Listen...  
I heard some of what my wife said to you the other day,   
and I wanted to apologize to you. It was uncalled for,   
and I don't know what got into her. But I wanted to   
promise you that she won't be bothering you anymore." 

Scully held down the urge to raise an eyebrow, a sick   
feeling growing in her stomach. She didn't turn to see   
Mulder's reaction. "Oh? Is everything ok?"

"Quite fine..." Ed smiled again. "She's been having a   
difficult time lately. I sent her off for a couple days  
at a retreat in Dallas. I think she just needs some time  
away from all of this." 

Scully nodded, chewing her lip. How many spa retreats   
could there be in Dallas? She mentally added a check-up  
on those retreats to her "to-do" list. 

Ed cleared his throat, clearly feeling the discomfort  
in the room. "Well, let's get you that room, Agent   
Mulder. You two look bushed." The nervous smile was back,  
and Ed made quick work of turning to find his registration  
book amongst a pile of clutter on the corner table in the  
foyer. Scully had a vague thought that Mrs. White never  
left clutter.

 

\---------------------------

 

Forcing himself away from the tempting bed at the B & B,  
Mulder dragged his newly suited form down to the Police   
Station. His exhaustion was warring with his curiosity   
something fierce, and he shook himself as another wave   
of drowsiness washed over him. 

He'd left Scully to shower and call the Sheriff's office  
in Beaumont to request a search for Mrs. White at all   
spa retreats in the greater Dallas area. There was   
something strange happening. Mulder could feel his internal   
radar crackling. His spidey-senses were a-tingle. He was   
willing to bet that they would find no evidence of Mrs.   
Virginia White at any spa establishment.

Mulder smiled in satisfaction at the bold, crisp ring of  
the bell at the reception desk of the Police Station. To  
his immense delight, the station was not only open, the   
Chief's cruiser appeared to be parked out front. Mulder   
wasn't worried about meeting the man in the least. He'd   
had him profiled before he got into town. 

He would be like every other stereotypical upper-level  
law enforement official. Perhaps a little overweight, a  
little bald. He wouldn't be the best looking of the bunch,  
having always used his power and know-it-all attitude to  
make others feel lesser and move himself up the ladder.   
Based on what Scully said, he strugged with alcohol, and  
his intense dislike of women probably stemmed from his  
lack of a productive relationship with the opposite sex.   
His failed marriages made every woman a perfect failure,  
too volatile to hire as a police officer, and completely   
useless for anything other than a roll in the hay. 

Mulder only wished he could express his excitement at   
his proficiency when he saw the stocky Chief lumbering   
from his office door, every bit the embodiment of his  
profile. 

"Can I help you?" Mulder took note of the Chief's cordial  
behavior. He hadn't told him to head to the General Store  
for directions. 

Mulder nodded. "I'm Special Agent Mulder, FBI. I believe  
you have some files here regarding the four murders in  
town." He decided to remain neutral. 

The Chief smiled and moved forward to throttle Mulder's   
hand. Mulder tamped down the urge to shake his head in  
wonderment. "Russell Ford, but call me Rusty. Sure glad  
they sent someone with a mind for the business to take   
over for that little girl. I just knew she was in over   
her head... Little thing just didn't understand a thing   
going on 'round here." 

Ford prattled around the office, grabbing a key and   
waving Mulder to follow him. Walking through the second   
door in the office, Mulder noticed it was likely an   
interrogation room. They probably used it as a conference  
center as well. The Chief walked to the back of the room,   
unlucking a caged storage facility and fishing out a   
file box. Mulder couldn't help but wonder why files for  
an open case were being stored in a locked storage   
container in the back of the station. 

The Chief made a display of handing over the files,   
gladly plunking the box into Mulder's waiting arms.   
Mulder smiled, and couldn't wait to see the man's face  
after he dropped the bomb. 

Mulder cleared his throat, "Well, I'm sure Agent Scully   
will appreciate these files. Thank you very much for   
your cooperation, Chief Ford." 

The Chief's face blanched, tinging a slight green and  
looking for all the world like he might vomit. Mulder   
had to hand it to him, though - he was thinking very   
hard about how he was going to back out of this one.  
The two men shared a staunchy stare, and Mulder had   
to fight back the urge to curl his lip. This was just  
too good, he thought. Smart enough to know he was in   
a corner, Ford did what any politician would do - he   
pretended like the last five minutes never happened. 

"Well, the files are here anytime you need them. Just  
let me know when you're all finished up and I'll lock  
'em back up into the storage facility." The man's smile  
couldn't have been an tenser. 

Mulder smiled politely. "Actually, since you've offered   
no viable office space here, I'll be taking the files   
with me. You'll receive anything the Bureau doesn't need  
within thirty days of the completed investigation." 

The Chief didn't bother to smile as Mulder began to show   
himself out of the office. He couldn't help it but to   
add one last jab, though. 

"Oh, and Chief?" Mulder called out to the man as he sulked   
in the corner. "You might want to get to know Agent Scully  
before you begin degrading her in the presence of total   
strangers." He couldn't help but to tack on an   
irritatingly sunny smile. "You have a good day, now." 

 

\--------------------------- 

 

Mulder was pleasantly surprised when Scully answered his   
knock in nothing but a towel, wet hair already curling   
around her face. Without her make-up, her skin was shiny,  
milky, and freckled. It was a good look for her, and he   
smiled his approval. "Is this how you answer the door for   
any ol' law enforcement official? If so, I'm surprised   
you're not the director of the FBI yet, Scully." 

She rolled her eyes at him, waving him inside. "I know   
your knock."

Her eyes latched onto the box of files as he dropped them  
onto her bed with a bounce. She smiled gracefully, feeling  
her general frustration easing somewhat. "Did you have to   
kill him?" 

Mulder chuffed. "No... but I would have liked to. What an  
asshole, Scully." 

As he turned, she was bent over, rooting through the   
various underwear items in her suitcase. He admired the  
view of her towelled ass and strong legs as she attempted  
to hold her towel, search for underwear, and talk at the   
same time. "You don't have to tell me... I'm sure he had   
some choice words." 

"He could hardly contain himself, he was so excited that   
the bureau had finally sent someone with a "mind for the   
business" to replace, and I quote, "That Little Girl"." 

As she turned to face him, Mulder could see the ire rising  
in her face, her mouth pursed into a straight line, and   
her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. "You didn't   
let him think that, did you?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Only long enough to get my hands   
on the files. Once I had them in my posession, I sat back  
and watched the horror on his face when I told him I'd be  
delivering them to you immediately." He chuckled. "He   
looked like his balls were about to shrivel up and fall   
off. You would have appreciated it immensely." 

He made a show of slowly walking up to her, removing the  
panties she was holding and tossing them onto the bed. As  
he bent to kiss her, he laid a firm hold onto the towel  
where she held it closed. Under the strength of his mouth,  
Scully's hands disregarded the scrap of fabric and came   
up to greet his face, deepening the kiss. She startled  
somewhat at the feel of the towel dropping away from her   
body and hitting the floor. 

While their tongues duelled in a most thrilling way,   
Mulder's hands crept around the back of her body, blazing  
fire down her back before finally anchoring themselves   
around her ass, testing her firmness over and over again  
and pulling her up closer to him. Her lightness always   
astounded him.

Finally backing away from the kiss, both of them gasped  
for breath while taking in their equally flushed and   
flustered appearances. "We shouldn't be doing this..."   
Scully quirked a smile. 

Mulder nodded. "No, we shouldn't." He reached out to   
her, pinching a nipple and enjoying her look of   
arousal. "But I'm so damn glad to see you..." 

Her smile broadened. "Mmm... I can tell." She looked   
down at the obvious bulge in his suit. She couldn't   
help herself as she moved closer to him to rub her   
palm up against his already full-blown erection. "If   
you can get yourself out of that suit and be quick about  
it, I might make an exception."

He said nothing, dropping articles of clothing as though   
they were on fire. He flashed Scully an "I'm Trying"  
look while she chuckled at his desperation. She was   
very obviously teasing him as she turned to walk toward  
the bed, her ass practically shaking at him on her way  
to the mattress. He thanked the perfectly lit day for his  
undaunted and very lovely view. 

Finally void of all clothing, he practically jumped her   
already prone body. She'd quietly layed back amongst the  
pillows, her thighs lazily spread. If she weren't naked,  
she'd be laying casually, arms pillowing her head; maybe  
star-gazing or enjoying the day after a warm and sunny   
picnic that'd ended with too much food. As it was, she  
afforded him a perfect view of her pink, petal-like sex,  
already swollen, wet, and ready for him. He was gone. 

Reveling in the feel of their nude bodies pressed   
together, Mulder kissed her enthusiastically, with   
flourish and drive. Scully laughed against his mouth,   
reaching between them to test the weight and hardness of  
his penis. Breaking the kiss, she tugged on him, evoking  
a primal, raw moan. "Remember, we're being quick."

Wrapping her legs around him, heels anchored against   
his solid ass, she wasted no time before guiding him   
into her, lost in a haze at his slow slide into her body.  
There was nothing like it; The feeling of fullness was   
almost unbearable, and Scully mused that it felt like   
he was bucking up against her spine. "God, that's good." 

Mulder shuddered against her, words having left him some  
time ago. He wasted no time in finding a pace and   
thrusting into her, slow but hard. Pulling himself up on  
his arms, he gained leverage and continued his slow   
assault on her senses, excited by her continual moans.   
She wasn't the loudest lover he'd ever had, but she   
left no questions as to whether she was enjoying the   
ride. 

"I think..." Her voice was broken with a moan. "I want  
you to take me from behind." 

She needn't say any more, but was surprised when he   
pulled out of her only to roll her onto her side and   
flop down behind her. Pulling her back to him, he lifed  
her leg as his own edged in between hers, quick to   
re-enter her. In the changed position, she was suddenly  
tighter, and they both moaned their mutual approval.   
Encouraging her leg to drop and twine behind his, he   
let his hand wander. He pinched her breasts, kneading   
and testing them, before he firmly rubbed her side   
around to her abdomen, stopping for a moment to play  
with her belly button. 

Finally, he quickened his pace as his hand made it to  
her clit. The swollen little nub jumped for joy at   
the contact with his fingers, and he pinched the sac  
of nerves for everything he was worth. Surprised by   
his hard assault, Scully felt herself clamping, her  
orgasm hard and sharp, hitting her like a speeding   
car, but lingering. She could vaguely hear his strangled  
cry as he finished behind her, the warm trickle   
between her thighs unspeakably erotic. 

As Mulder finished up behind her, slowly pumping himself  
in and out of her, Scully felt herself coming out   
of her stupor. "Jesus, Mulder..." 

He grunted, then chuckled. "Hey, babe, as anyone ever   
told you that you're an incredible lay?" 

Scully laughed herself. "I only save it for the best.   
You ready to look at some files?" 

Nuzzling his face into her shoulder, he dropped tender   
kisses along her neck and into her hair. "What are your  
thoughts on reading files naked?" 

Scully smiled, turning slightly to look into his face.   
"That would be all good and fine... But I'm hungry."   
She fixed him with her best pout. 

He sighed, nodding his head at his instant knowledge   
of what she was asking. "Alright. How about you clean   
yourself up, and get a start on the files, and I'll go  
forage?" 

"Thank you." She pecked him on the lips before bounding  
out of bed, thanking God that they had a connecting   
bathroom. 

 

\--------------------------------

 

Having finally cleaned up and seated herself in front  
of the box of files, Scully began the daunting task of  
sorting them, unsure of where to start. By the time   
Mulder made it back with their sandwiches from the   
diner, the bed was covered with various piles. 

"What happened, here?" He smiled at her as he walked   
through her door, two bags and two drinks juggled   
precariously in his arms. 

"Big surprise, but they were a mess... Everything was   
sort of crammed in there." 

"Why don't we move the piles to the floor?" He set the  
food down on the floor as he plopped down himself.   
"That way, we can eat and work." 

She said nothing, quickly relocating the mass of   
paperwork before greedily snatching her sandwich from  
him. 

They worked in silence for several hours, each   
engrossed in their respective files. Wrappers and drink  
cups were strewn across the floor, and a trashcan full  
of junk paperwork later, Scully came to attention at   
the file she was reading. 

"I think I've got something, here..." She began   
spreading the papers side by side on the floor, attacking  
them with a highlighter, the lid hanging out of her mouth.  
"Its the credit card records for each victim..." She   
tried to speak around the little plastic item. 

Mulder crawled to her, peering over her shoulder at the  
records and waiting for her explanation. 

"All of the victims..." She re-capped her highlighter.  
"Were getting ready to move, Mulder. Each one charged a  
fee at "Lucky Movers" to their credit cards within a week  
of their deaths." 

Still peering at the paperwork, Mulder steadied himself  
on her shoulder. "Good catch, Scully..." 

"What if the killer's a mover?" The excitement was   
visible on her face. She fumbled around until she finally  
found her autopsy photos, looking at an enlargement of   
the strangulation pattern on the last victim. "These   
wide strap marks? They could have been from a moving   
strap..." 

"I'll be damned..." Mulder shook his head, already deep  
in thought at the possibilities.

 

\-------------------------

 

Wanting nothing more than to burrow into the covers  
for another couple hours, the sensation of the sun   
burning into his eyelids sent Mulder rolling over  
with a groan. Searching for the blankets, he was   
startled out of sleep at the realization that there   
were none. His eyes flying open, he sighed at the   
realization that he'd spent the night on the floor.   
Muscles whining in intense protest, he turned back   
over to find himself cocooned in a nest of reports,   
folders, and various empty food wrappers. 

He anxiously rubbed sleep from his eyes, and noticed  
that his partner hadn't fared any better. Scully lay  
sprawled a few feet away from him, flat on her back   
and lightly snoring again. He chuckled at the sight   
of her hand still holding her paper cup from the   
diner, outstretched in a desperate attempt to hold   
onto the last drop of caffeine before she finally   
passed out. 

Mulder carefully gathered the papers around him   
before slowly standing. He winced at the popping and  
creaking sounds eminating from his body as he pulled  
himself upright. When did he get so old? He made his  
way to Scully, and was quick to remove the soda cup   
from her hand, anxious to avoid any disasters. At the  
slight movement, Scully jumped and squinted up at him   
in confusion. 

"What time is it?" Her voice was sleep roughened and  
foggy sounding. 

"I'm not sure." He cleared his throat. "The sun just   
came up." 

Looking around her momentarily, Scully rolled her   
eyes at him. If there was one thing he knew about   
Scully, it was that nothing in the world would change   
the fact that she was a grump in the morning. "Why did   
you let me do this, Mulder? I'm not sure I can get up...   
or that I ever will again, for that matter." 

"We must have just passed out... Not to worry, I'm   
equally miserable." He held his hand out to her, which  
she didn't hesitate to accept. Both partners groaned  
mutually as he hoisted her off the floor and onto her  
feet. 

There were no words spoken as both of them made their  
way to the bathroom, shedding clothing on the way.   
Mulder hurriedly set the shower temperature while   
Scully brushed her teeth and used the toilet. In silent  
agreement, he moved aside while she stepped into the   
shower and he took his turn at the sink and toilet. In   
less than two minutes, he joined her at the shower and   
chuckled at her death stare as he attempted to walk in   
under the water. Turning in his tracks, he pulled the   
curtain open at the other end of the tub and came into  
the other side. 

He stared in reverence as she stood under the water,  
silent and still, with her head bowed. The water flowed   
gracefully onto her head and down her neck, smoothing   
her hair with it. Errant drops ran down her forehead,   
falling in droplets from the soft curve of her nose and   
high cheekbones. He was enraptured, and couldn't stop   
himself when his hands traced a light path up her arms   
to rest on her shoulders. 

Her intense gaze caught him from beneath heavy lashes  
and she fairly floated while she turned around, revealing  
the expanse of her back to his gaze. Her back was   
magnificent to him, like chiseled marble, but soft and   
yielding. It glowed white and flawless in the yellow light   
of the bathroom, enhanced by the crystal water running in   
rivulets between her shoulder blades. 

Scully allowed a sigh to escape her lips as his hands   
ran over her shoulders, but groaned in pleasure when he  
ran his nails from top to bottom down her spine. Her skin  
was immediately consumed in goose flesh. He made a few  
more passes before bringing his hands up to her hair,   
softly massaging her scalp through her wet hair. It  
was divine, she thought.

Mulder's eyes flitted around the shower until he located  
her shampoo, on the corner shelf in front of Scully.   
Taking only one hand away from her scalp, he reached his  
long arm around the side of her to snatch up the bottle.  
Scully groaned in protest when he took his hand away   
from her scalp long enough to pour the shampoo and   
lather it slightly in his palms. The shower was instantly  
engulfed in the thick, flowery smell of the organic  
shampoo. He reveled in the way the lather thickened in   
her hair while he rubbed it in, sure to use his nails to   
provide her with the best scalp massage possible. There   
were still no words, but the loose sway of her body and   
her contented sighs spoke volumes. In fact, Scully felt   
that she might float away on a cloud of pleasure. 

She smiled inwardly at Mulder's attentiveness, and   
her heart contracted at the thought of how he took   
care of her. He was remarkably careful as he rinsed   
her hair, shielding her eyes from any wayward shampoo  
and leaving the hair squeaky-clean. The conditioner   
went in like silk, and he was every bit as attentive  
with it as he had been the shampoo. Scully almost   
giggled at the thought that if he ever washed out of the  
bureau, he could certainly get a job at any salon   
washing hair for the desperate women of DC. It sounded   
like a TLC show... 

Mulder thought it was majestic, the way she turned in   
his arms, bringing her hands up to cheeks. She smiled   
contentedly into his face, bringing his lips down for   
a slow, sweet kiss. She then swept around the side of   
his face, dropping a remarkably chaste peck on his  
cheek. 

"Thank you..." She whispered, and he knew she meant to  
thank him for more than a simple shampooing. 

For a moment, Scully was startled by the intensity of  
his gaze, narrowing on her face. "What?" Her voice was  
not demanding, but softly questioning.

Mulder hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  
"I know we don't say much." He cleared his throat.   
"And I know we're not good at the... 'Love Stuff'. But  
I just wanted you to know I love you."

Scully nodded. "You're right, we don't say much. But  
you show me all the time." She smiled. "Love you, too."

 

\------------------------- 

 

It surprised Mulder how familiar it felt to be going   
about their morning routines in the same room. He   
delighted in Scully's comfort with walking around the  
room naked while she gathered her various garments   
and slipped them on. They casually discussed their   
course of action while they readied themselves. 

"What's on the agenda?" Scully was the first to break  
the silence. He'd been rather enjoying it, himself. 

"I think we need to get over to Lucky Movers as soon  
as they're open... I'm sure they must be by 8. I want   
to see if there's anyone who hasn't shown up for work  
lately." 

Mulder was decidedly distracted by the sight of his   
partner slipping on her tiny panties while she posed  
her questions to him. He wasn't entirely certain   
whether the distraction was a positive or negative   
thing. "What makes you think he hasn't been working  
all the while?" Her question forced his gaze away   
from her slim hips and he smiled shyly. 

"I would imagine he's gone for chunks at a time. The  
injuries to the victims happened over the period of  
a couple days, and the scratching, scrapes and torn   
feet suggest that they were chased outdoors for an   
extended period of time. I don't have the full profile  
worked up yet, but I think these women were murdered  
for sport. The reasons for why they were chosen might  
be a little more difficult to discern, but...." He   
trailed off while he watched his partner thinking   
deeply. 

Scully said nothing while she finished dressing. "I  
think you were right, Scully..." He caught her   
attention. Her gaze was hot on him from across the   
room. "I think this case is about to get big and   
ugly." 

Scully was still silent, but also seemed to avoid   
his gaze, careful to look busy. He ran over what   
he'd said, wondering if something had bothered her.   
Facing away from him, her tight posture spoke volumes -   
something was weighing heavily on her. He made a note   
to adress it later, hoping they might have more time   
on their hands. 

 

\-------------------------

 

"When I said this case was going to get big and   
ugly, this wasn't what I was thiking of..." Mulder's   
deadpan joke belied the horror on both agents'   
faces as they walked out to Scully's rental car.   
From the house, their view was obscured, but it   
was obvious their vehicle had been toiled with. The  
drivers' side door was swung open, and the shimmer   
of broken glass was visible on the street. There   
was obviously something large in the drivers' side   
seat. 

"How did we not hear the window breaking?" Scully   
mused aloud. 

"Well, we were a little tired." Mulder was already  
focusing in on the car, a sick feeling rising in the  
pit of his stomach. "Uh, Scully..." 

"I see it." She said it quietly as her walking pace  
slowed to allow her to scan the neighborhood for   
any activity. As she rounded the corner, her view of  
the driver's side seat was entirely clear. "Jesus..."

Mulder grunted in frustration and disgust as he   
swept around to the driver's side for a closer look.   
A young woman lay propped up into the seat, arms   
sprawled to her sides and out the door. She was   
completely nude and very obviously dead. She had   
once been beautiful, her blue eyes staring out into  
nowhere in particular and her long blonde hair still  
carefully curled. Now, her skin was tinged blue,   
lurid against the damage done to her body. Large   
slashes covered her torso; they weren't the   
scratches and scrapes on the other victims - these   
were put there very intentionally. Both agents'   
attention, however, was immediately drawn to the   
dagger sunk to the hilt into the woman's lower   
abdomen, dead center between her prominent pelvic   
bones. 

"She was alive for all of this, Mulder." Scully's   
voice was disturbed, quiet. "The amount of blood..  
I would need to do the autopsy, but she probably  
died of blood loss."

"Look at this, Scully." Mulder scooted aside to   
allow Scully closer to body, and drew her   
attention to the woman's arm, hanging out of the   
open door of the car. "Looks like our friend is   
especially fond of those BB's." 

Small ball bearings were still lodged in the girl's  
arm and shoulder, the skin puckered and torn. "She  
was shot at very close range..." Scully mused. There  
were other bruises as well, indicating where the   
bearings had hit but not broken the skin. "Mulder, I  
think the BB gun is used as a means to scare the   
victim during the chase...Keep them on their toes.   
As long as they think they're going to be shot,   
they're going to act with more urgency. If the   
shooter is far enough away, it would be nearly   
impossible to tell whether he's shooting a pellet   
gun or an actual rifle. Maybe he get's off on the   
panic." 

"You should have been a profiler, Scully." He broke  
her ramblings. 

Scully nodded. "I need to tell you something..." 

Mulder raised his eyes expectantly, but the moment  
was interrupted by the horrifying sound of a camera  
shutter. Both agents turned defensively, hands   
poised near their weapons. 

"I'll never believe you people again..." The man's  
face was obscured by a large SLR camera as he   
enthusiastically snapped photos of the crime scene.   
Slow on the uptake, Mulder's synapses finally began  
firing and he moved to block the man's view of the  
body. 

"Can we help you?" Mulder's irritation was palpable,  
and his lip curled in anger. 

Finally, the camera was dropped, revealing a   
rather average face. The man was young, probably   
about 30, with eager features and stunningly large   
ears. His light blond hair was very heavily styled-  
the embodiment of the classic "fair-haired boy". 

"Name's Jason Caldwell." He didn't move to shake   
either agent's hand, niceties clearly forsaken.   
"I'm down here with the Dallas Morning News. That   
son of a bitch Chief of Police tried to tell me   
these deaths were accidental, that I'd been cranked   
and shouldn't have come out here at all." 

Mulder and Scully each shared equally perplexed   
expressions, and the reporter was eager to jump   
on them. "I take it you weren't aware of that." 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Caldwell..." Scully approached the  
reporter, her voice conciliatory. "We're going to  
need to ask you to leave the crime scene. It hasn't  
been processed for evidence yet." 

"Hey, Lady, I'm going to get my story." He was   
pointing at her emphatically. 

Scully raised a hand in a "STOP" gesture. "As of   
right now, there are no other media sources in town.  
Now, I'm sure we'd both like to keep it that way." 

Caldwell was cowed, and he fairly stomped his feet  
and crossed his arms like an angry teenager. "What  
do you want me to do?" 

"Hold the story." Scully's hand came up again when  
Caldwell immediately began complaining. "You send   
this story back to Dallas, and every reporter in   
the state of Texas will be here tomorrow. That   
won't serve any purpose for you or me - I need to   
catch this guy, and reporters may spook him. You   
hold the story for today, and I will give you an   
exclusive as soon as we have a concrete suspect."

Mulder stared at Scully in wonder. Where had this  
come from? Scully very rarely spoke with the   
media. In fact, he was almost always the one who  
made contact with the media. He might have to   
change that; afterall, the camera would probably  
love her. Everyone liked bad news better when   
coming from a beautiful woman. He'd never seen her   
as such a controlled Public Relations official.   
She'd dissolved the situation with the anxious   
reporter with the flair and grace of a true   
professional. Not that he expected any less from   
her. 

Caldwell's stare was cautious as he took Scully   
in from head to toe, weighing her honesty. Mulder   
didn't think he'd ever seen anyone who looked more  
honest or trustworthy than Scully -- and he should   
know. 

Finally, the young reporter sighed in defeat.   
"Deal". 

Scully reached into the inside pocket of her   
blazer, pulling out her business card. "Call me   
if you find anything noteworthy, Mr. Caldwell, and  
I will do the same." 

Taking her card testily, Caldwell turned on his   
heel and stalked away. Mulder thought he could   
hear angry mutterings under the man's breath, but  
couldn't decipher anything juicy. 

As Scully turned around and pulled out her cell   
phone, she noticed Mulder grinning crookedly at   
her. She raised her eyebrow at him and cocked her   
head, questioning him with her eyes. 

"How 'you doin'?" Mulder waggled his eyebrows   
while Scully's eyeroll reached full rotation. 

"If you thought this was shitty, wait until the   
Chief gets here, Mulder." She sighed and started  
dialing. 

"I love it when you put on your dirty mouth,   
Scully." He was grinning like an idiot.

 

\-----------------------

 

The lack of forensic units in proximity to   
Jefferson meant that Scully would save herself a  
few headaches by processing the scene herself.   
While Mulder tinkered about, scribbling notes for  
his profile, she went about collecting hair and   
fibers. The street was now cordoned off, and a   
few officers milled about, scouring for anything   
unusual in the vicinity. 

The evidence was small and not exactly awe  
inspiring, but there were some small fibers and   
hairs that she could easily rule out belonging   
to herself or Mulder. She'd already called Sheriff  
Cooke in Beaumont, and he would be heading down  
to Jefferson with Paul in tow. They would pick up  
the body, and the Sheriff would make a final   
assessment of the crime scene, since Chief Ford   
had been, as predicted, legendarily uncooperative. 

The blustery Chief of Police was leaning against   
the door of his cruiser, angrily shouting into his  
phone about something or other. So far, he had yet  
to say an actual word to Mulder or Scully. She had  
a feeling an outburst was coming, if his livid   
phone conversations were any indication. She was   
also fairly certain he'd received a call from the  
Sheriff. 

As Scully removed herself from the passenger side  
of the car, she hoped Paul would arrive soon to   
pick up the body. The sun was already blistering   
hot, and it was just coming up on 10 am. She'd   
done her best to keep the crime scene clean and   
removed her blazer and covered her shoes with   
plastic booties she kept in her small kit. It was  
basic, but it would have to do. The stench in the   
car was reaching the point of unbearable. She   
didn't envy Paul the task of driving the body   
back to Beaumont. 

Mulder approached her quietly, deep in thought and  
staring down at this note-pad. He spoke somewhat   
distractedly. "Scully, were you planning on heading  
to Beaumont for the Post Mortem?" 

Scully considered for a moment, and noticed Mulder  
looking at her anxiously. "What's the matter?" 

"I think you should stay in town. I think we've got  
some major escalation going on, here, and I don't   
want to risk the body count rising. We need to   
head to Lucky Movers ASAP. I think he's getting   
increasingly angry, and that you leaving town might  
make him angrier, since he seems to have formed   
an attachment to you. We also need to interview the  
bridge club tonight. Can Paul do the autopsy? You  
could always head up there to do your own exam in  
the next day or two if we end up stuck."

Scully nodded. "I agree. I think we need to stick   
together. We can't really afford to lose momentum.  
Besides, I don't trust anyone in this town to look  
after your back anyway. I think its very obvious   
what this woman died of, and none of the other   
victims were drugged. All the blood tests came back  
clean. 

"But there's one other thing." Scully walked over to   
the body, still splayed in the open door of the   
vehicle, gesturing to the neck area. "The cause of   
death has completely shifted. This woman has none of   
the strangulation patterns the other victims did. And  
I think I know why. I was trying to explain to you   
before Caldwell showed up earlier." 

Scully's gaze was averted, and she struggled for   
words. 

"What is it?" Mulder's voice was soft, and he led her   
away from earshot of the Chief of Police and onto   
the sidwalk in front of the Carriage House. 

Scully was still grappling for words, and her voice  
was tentative. "I don't know how to say this... I   
had a dream, Mulder." 

It was Mulder's turn to raise his eyebrows. "What   
kind of dream?" 

Her shoulders dropped, but he didn't know if it was  
out of relief or defeat. "I was lying in the middle  
of a vague wooded area. It was so dark, I couldn't   
see anything, but I could hear twigs snapping and   
leaves rustling while... they were walking to me. I  
heard several voices talking. There was an obvious   
leader, who was taunting me. He kept calling me   
"Little Bitch". There were a few other voices...  
I got kicked, hard, but I woke up because the leader   
raised a gun to my face and fired."

"Did you see their faces?" His voice was excited. 

"No... That was the strange thing. They were   
silhouetted and completely black. Just figures in   
the dark." 

Mulder's eyebrows were furrowed in concern. "There's   
more than one killer. Its brilliant, Scully. It   
solves all of the problems I haven't been able to   
reconcile with my profile. There's no consistent MO  
because there's more than one..." 

Scully allowed herself a cleansing breath of relief.  
She'd been ready for recriminations. Mulder tended to  
fly off the handle when he felt she was keeping things  
from him. She had no doubt she'd hear about it later,   
but for now, he was deep in thought, synthesizing his   
new theory. 

Their companionable silence was broken by an angry   
shout across the street from them. "Hey!" Scully   
looked up to see Ford heading her direction. Could   
this case be any more irritating? As sweat trickled  
down her back, she changed her mind, yet again: Texas   
had no redeeming value whatsoever. 

As the Chief approached her, Scully noticed that he   
was sweating profusely himself, sweat trails already   
running down his chest and underarms along the thin   
brown fabric of his uniform shirt. If anything, it   
served to enhance his ogre-like appearance, and   
Scully wasn't sure she'd met a man more perpetually   
angry in her life. 

"I hope you're happy, now." Ford sneered at her,   
gesturing at her with his phone, still clutched in   
his hand. "I guess its not a murder investigation   
unless you get some poor girl killed while you're   
here." 

Fighting back a confused look, Scully spoke carefully.   
"I don't understand how this is my fault, Sir." 

Scully looked to her left, expecting to find Mulder   
backing her up, but he'd walked away, pacing the   
sidewalk and whispering to himself. Sometimes, he   
really did look like a creep, she laughed internally. 

"Well, we agree on something: You just don't   
understand anything. You show up in this town, can't   
find your own ass with both hands, and some poor   
local girl has to die for your incompetence. Clearly,  
even the bureau doesn't have any confidence, sending  
in help for you. You're just lucky he's here to   
save your ass. I'll have your badge, Agent." 

Scully nodded calmly, and saw the Chief's anger   
growing at her lack of reaction. "I'm sorry you feel  
that way, sir. Firstly, Agent Mulder isn't here to   
relieve me of duty. He's my partner. He's here to   
offer assistance. Secondly, on your watch four girls   
died. I fail to see how my arriving here changed   
anything about how poorly your department is run.   
Lastly, the bureau will be pulling jurisdiction on   
this case." She let a slightly evil grin sneak onto   
her face, unable to completely conceal her mean   
streak. "I suddenly have this strange feeling the   
suspect has comitted murders across state lines.   
Guess I'll have to take it from here, Chief." 

"You can't do that." Ford's gaze narrowed, the rage  
full on his reddened, sweat-soaked face. 

"I guess I've just got a hunch... We'll see if it   
pans out. Until then, this case belongs to the   
Bureau." Scully shrugged and met his stare evenly,   
knowing full well that she'd hear from Kersh in the   
next two hours. It was well worth it. 

"Bitch..." She could hear him huff under his breath  
as he lumbered away. True to his ways, he couldn't   
allow her the last word. "You'll pay for this,   
Agent! Rest assured, your ass is headed back to DC."

Turning to Mulder, she saw that he was still on  
his own planet. Or maybe a pleasant, private little   
island, taking in his unaffected appearance. "I don't   
know what I'd do without your help, Mulder." She   
couldn't help the testiness in her voice.

"Huh?" He glanced at her briefly, before scribbling  
something else in his notepad. "I heard everything.  
You did just fine. The jurisdiction thing was a   
nice touch, Scully. I just want to know why he's   
telling bold-faced lies to the media. I understand  
wanting to keep them out of the case, but lying to  
the media never helped anyone." 

Scully shook her head in frustration before falling  
to a sitting position on the sidewalk. Propping her  
forehead up on her hands, she resigned herself to   
waiting for the Sheriff and Paul to arrive. Until   
then, they were without a vehicle.

 

\-------------------------

 

The arrival of the County Coroner and Sheriff found  
Mulder and Scully still tied up in their various   
thoughts. Sneering in the eye of danger, Scully sat  
on the sidewalk, completing chain of evidence forms  
for the hair and fibers found in the vehicle. An   
outstretched leg held down one pile of papers in a  
gust of wind, while an elbow held the other. Mulder  
loomed around her, fervently chewing on his pencil  
and occasionally posing questions to himself. He was  
wholly absent, though, engrossed in the complexity of   
his profile. 

"Holy Shit..." The gasp as Sheriff Cooke rounded the  
corner somehow struck Scully as humorous, and she   
chuckled internally. Briefly, she considered that she  
didn't want to think about how she could laugh at a   
time like this. "What the hell happened?" 

Grabbing her various papers, Scully rose from her   
position to meet Paul's usually smiling face forlornly  
staring into the crime scene within the car, while   
Cooke squinted in disgust and soaked in the entirety  
of the scene. 

"We came down this morning to find this... gift. We  
both feel that the case is now a matter of delicacy,   
to say the least. Jason Caldwell has already been to   
the scene." Scully implored the Sheriff with an   
intense stare. 

"Shit..." Cooke cursed again. "What did the little   
weasel have to say?" 

Scully shrugged. "He snapped a couple shots of the   
scene. I spoke with him; reminded him that a flock  
of reporters in town aren't any better for him than  
for us... And I promised him an exclusive after a  
suspect is in custody, on the promise that he hold  
his story." 

Cooke nodded. Out of the corner or her eye, Scully   
could see Paul working on the removal of the body,   
working her side to side until he could slip a bag  
around her. "He won't hold his story long, though." 

"I think we'll be lucky if he holds it for 48 hours."  
Scully shrugged. "Its all the time I could buy, after  
he told us that the Chief had mislead him into   
thinking he'd been cranked; that the deaths were   
accidental."

Scully felt her want for vengeance rising again, and  
revelled in the angry expression on Cooke's face.  
"We've got a significant lead, though."

The Sheriff gestured for her to continue.

"All four victims hired a moving company, Lucky   
Movers in the months prior to their deaths. Upon a   
closer look, I would have to say that the   
strangulation patterns around each victim's neck are  
consistent with a moving strap of some sort."

Cooke smiled deeply, his dimpled cheeks making their   
first appearance since Scully had met him. She   
couldn't help but think that she would have dated   
someone like Alan Cooke in a heartbeat. 

"That's the best news I've heard all week." He beamed.   
"I do have a word of caution for you, though." 

'Get in line...', Scully thought. "What's that?" 

"Those straps are used for more than movin' around   
these parts." Cooke chuckled at Scully's raised brows.  
"'Gator wrestling, Agent Scully. Lots of them here in  
the lake. Local boys like to take a boat out there,  
find a couple unsuspecting Alligators, and use those   
straps to wrestle the poor suckers silly. The strap   
comes in handy to avoid a nasty bite." 

Scully looked truly perplexed. "Well, I can't say I  
did that where I grew up." 

Cooke laughed heartily. "Yep. Truth is, its illegal.  
But the lake is so big, there isn't a soul who has   
the time to care. If a DOW happens across something,  
they might issue a ticket, but that's about it." 

The conversation was interrupted by Mulder's sudden  
interjection. He still held his notebook, but finally  
noticed that Cooke had arrived. He addressed Scully,  
though, largely ignoring the uniformed Sheriff. "We   
need to get going, Scully." 

She turned to Cooke. "Any idea how we might get ahold  
of a car, Sheriff? Ours is... occupied." 

"Not a problem. What with this new development, I'm   
staying in town. We need all the manpower we can get  
on this, especially since we might be narrowing in on  
a suspect. Besides, you'll need a County Official to   
transport a suspect once he's in custody, so I may as  
well stay. We can use my vehicle. I'll call and have  
someone come down from the county for final evidence  
processing on the car." The Sheriff puffed up proudly,  
his nose high in the air, the picture-perfect man of   
law.

While Mulder grimaced silently, Scully smiled and   
appeased the Sheriff. "We appreciate the help; We need  
to get to Lucky Movers ASAP. We've lost a lot of time.  
I've got some evidence and paperwork to send with Paul,  
but we can get moving as soon as I've handed over the   
chain of custody documents."

Scully could have sworn she saw Mulder stomping behind  
her, like an impatient child made to wait while his   
mother finished grocery shopping. His fists clenched   
and unclenched, signalling his inability to drain his  
excess energy. She could barely contain the urge to   
kick him.

 

\---------------------------------

 

As it turned out, the owner of Lucky Movers wasn't   
quite so lucky as one might think. Ignacio Terriquez,  
lovingly reffered to as 'Iggy', was middle-aged and   
balding, but that didn't stop him from braiding a   
ponytail down his back. He was almost emaciated and   
confined to a wheelchair after an incident in his 20's,  
in which he attempted to jump off of a roof into a   
pool while on the job with a contracting company. 

"Missed the damn pool..." He smiled crookedly, but   
even Scully had to admit he was friendly and likeable.  
"Yeah, I was real stupid back in the days... But the   
disability helps keep my business running." Iggy   
shrugged. 

Wishing he'd never been nosy enough to ask, Mulder   
cleared his throat anxiously. "We're sorry to bother you,  
Mr. Terriquez, but we have some questions for you   
regarding several murders." 

"I heard about those girls... Don't have nothin' to   
do with them, though. Never heard of 'em. Of course,  
they were all so young, I don't know where I would have  
met them." Terriquez appeared earnest, his head shaking  
in disbelief.

"Then would it surprise you to know that each woman   
used your services in the months prior to their deaths?"  
Scully fixed Terriquez with the look Mulder referred to  
as "The Lie Detector". 

The man's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, it would. But, I don't  
see a lot of the names, unless there's a problem. My  
controller takes care of the billing. I'm just here to  
make sure things run smoothly..." Terriquez lowered his  
gaze, the shock still visible in his posture. "I have   
the signed orders here, somewhere. They're records of   
which guy did which job. The customer has to sign before  
they can leave. I can make copies for you."

Scully nodded. "That would be incredibly helpful, sir." 

Terriquez wheeled himself over to a small, two drawer   
file cabinet and began rifling through papers. As Scully  
took in the small office space, she noticed both Mulder  
and the Sheriff practically twittering in excitement   
while they waited for the papers. Not able to contain   
himself any longer, Mulder finally began his questioning  
while the man was still pulling file folders out of the  
cabinet. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Terriquez, but do you have any   
employees who have been missing a lot of work lately?"

Putting his finger up, the man fished out the last of  
the files before turning himself around and addressing  
Mulder's question. "Yeah... Matter of fact, I've been  
having a lot of trouble with one in particular. Johnny  
Asop."

At the sound of a surprised grunt coming from the   
corner of the office, Mulder and Scully both turned to  
look at the Sheriff. Cooke waived them off quickly,   
signalling that he'd mention it later. Mulder picked   
up his line of question quickly. "What kind of problems?"

"Well, Johnny's always been a problem. There isn't any  
one person in town who'll tell you he's the kind you   
take home to mama. Been in and out of jail a few times."

Scully cocked her head. "Then why do you employ him?" 

Terriquez chuckled. "It's a small town. I do it as a  
favor to his mama." 

All four people in the room nodded in understanding.   
"What's his attendence record been like?" Mulder tried  
to remain casual, though his hand itched to scrawl into  
his notebook feverishly. 

Terriquez scoffed. "Spotty. Its a good thing I've got  
a solid crew, or I'd have fired his ass. He disappears  
for four, five days at a time. Then shows back up like   
nothing ever happened. Hasn't been here the last few   
days, either, but rumor has it whatever trouble he got  
himself into landed him in the hospital." 

The three investigators all shared excited glances   
with each other, while Mulder moved in closer to Mr.   
Terriquez to finish the interview. "I have victim   
credit card records showing the dates their cards   
were charged for your services. I assume you can tell   
me who worked those jobs based on those dates and   
names?" 

"Oh, absolutely." Terriquez wheeled himself over to his  
desk, spreading the files he'd brought with him. "If   
we charged any of those ladies, it'll all be in here."

 

\---------------------------------

 

Luck had found John William Asop still laid up in the  
Hospital, after having shot himself in the foot during  
a supposedly innocent hunting accident. The gunshot  
wound itself would have been unremarkable in and of   
itself, but the bastard had been unlucky enough to   
nick an artery. Mulder had looked on in fascination   
at Scully's excitement when the attending physician   
spouted out, "The patient severed a moderate length   
of the arcuate artery; More specifically, the deep   
plantar, likely caused by the bullet passing through   
two metatarsals."

He thought it cute when Scully's face lifted in   
wonderment and surprise, and a sigh escaped her lips.   
"I almost wish I could have been here. Never had the   
pleasure of witnessing that... Must have been a real   
bleeder." 

Turning, Mulder noticed the Sheriff also watching   
Scully, a crooked grin plastered on his face. The man   
was too kind to truly hate, but Mulder was getting   
there. He watched Scully much too closely. 

Johnny Asop was something like you'd find in a bad   
80's movie about vigilate justice. Long scraggly   
hair, dangerously straddling mullett territory, framed   
a hardened and unfriendly face. His sharp chin and   
squinted eyes made for a pinched and sour expression.   
Though skinny as a rail, his arms were well-muscled   
and adorned with multiple tatoos more resembling a   
home coloring party than objects of permanence. All he   
needed was a beaten up, armless plaid shirt, and the   
picture would be complete. 

"Whoooo!" Asop's howl was unexpected and all three   
investigators jumped. Narrowing his eyes in on Scully,   
Asop sneered and snickered. "If the nurses in this   
joint looked like you, I'd have something a little   
more interesting to do in this bed!" 

The obnoxious voice and vulger implication of his   
comments were followed up by an eager sway of his   
skinny hips beneath the sheets of his narrow hospital   
bed. Scully made a show of lifting her chin defiantly   
and fixing him with a stare of her own. To her dismay,   
it just seemed to light a bigger fire in the young   
deviant's eyes. 

Sheriff Cooke made his own show of posturing and   
stepping in front of Scully, obscuring Asop's view.   
"Well, hello, Johnny... What's it been... Three   
months?" Cooke's voice was steely and angry, something   
neither agent had experienced. They exchanged cautious   
glances behind his back. 

Asop grinned, "What's it to 'ya, Hookin' Cooke?" 

Mulder's head snapped to watch the Sheriff, his jaw   
clenched and his entire countenance stiffened in   
anger. He made a mental note to investigate Cooke's  
little 'nick name' later. 

"How long have you been in the hospital, Mr. Asop?"   
Mulder kept his voice even and quiet, interrupting   
the staring contest between the Law and the lawless. 

"Four days. What the hell is this about?" The scruff  
was coming out in the young man, his face reddening  
and his eyes narrowing again. 

"I imagine you heard about the murders in town. Would  
you like to say anything?" Again, Mulder worked to   
keep his tone even. 

Asop pulled himself up straighter in the bed, "I don't  
know what they hell you're talking about. I didn't have  
anything to do with those bitches!" His voice rose,  
and out of the corner of her eye, Scully could see a  
nurse peeking into the room worriedly. 

"So, you knew the victims?" Scully crossed her arms.

"I knew that they were dirty skanks." The young   
criminal gesticulated wildly while he spoke, not   
bothering to lower his voice. "I know that they were  
out there shakin' their asses for everyone to see.   
They were little teases. Maybe someone finally got   
pissed." 

Scully plastered a blank stare on her face. "So,   
how is it that you're the only connection between   
the victims?" 

Asop shook his head. "So, what, Lady? Its a small   
town. I work where I'm told to." 

"Doesn't seem like you work much at all, from what  
we've heard." Scully continued in a disinterested   
voice. 

"Stupid bitch... I only work because I have to -   
so what if I step out for a little break every now   
and then?" 

Cooke stepped forward, gripping onto the rails of   
Asop's bed, his anger now running unchecked. "You   
watch your mouth, Johnny. No one's gonna give a shit   
if I pop you a good one." 

"Ooh, give it to me, Hookin' Cooke. I'm sure my   
lawyer would love to hear tell." The smile Asop  
flashed was sadistic, wide and terrifying. 

"You don't have a goddamn lawyer." Cooke leaned  
farther forward, practically spitting in Asop's   
face. 

This time, Mulder made no attempt to diffuse the  
situation, but stepped forward to gain the attention  
of both men. "Whether you have a lawyer or not, I   
don't care. But you better call him; Consider yourself  
a suspect, Mr. Asop. Don't leave town." 

 

\------------------------------

 

The afternoon found both agents once again crowded   
around endless paperwork on the floor of Scully's   
rented bedroom. Both had been equally relieved   
when Alan Cooke dropped them off at the B & B with   
a promise to return later. He had work to do at the   
Police Station, including follow-up on the forensics   
report from earlier in the day. Neither had gotten   
the opportunity to badger the Sheriff about the   
possibility of getting a car, but for now they   
would settle for some pleasant silence alone. 

"Mulder, I'm confused..." Scully looked up from  
the mounds of paperwork separating them, squinting  
as she waited for her eyes to adjust after a solid  
hour of reading. She was secretly horrified at the  
thought that she may have to wear glasses full-  
time at the rate she was going. Never one for   
vanities, she rebuked herself for the silly thought.

"Hm..." He mumbled while he scribbled one last  
phrase into his profile notes and turned his full   
attention to her. She was once again reminded of  
his intensity as he watched her openly, with an   
unbroken gaze, but said nothing. 

"Why single out Asop? I think there's very little  
evidence that he has anything to do with the   
murders, despite his propensity for pissing off   
local law enforcement and being a general son of  
a bitch." Scully raised her eyebrows as she spoke.

"Why do you say that?" Mulder tilted his head at   
her questioningly, leaning back in his seat and   
stretching while he listened.

Scully gathered her thoughts quietly before   
speaking. "All we have to go on is the credit card  
records. Even the idea about the straps is   
completely useless, at this point - we have no   
straps to compare. Like it or not, its not illegal  
for a man to skip work, and we have no evidence   
that he had contact with the victims outside of   
his work detail." 

"I've just got a feeling about him." Mulder sighed  
at Scully's exasperated expression. "You don't   
need to tell me that feelings don't win trials, but   
hear me out. I've been wondering why none of the   
victims were sexually assaulted." 

Scully nodded. "As have I... Go on." 

"I'd like to operate on the assumption that we're  
dealing with multiple parties involved in the   
murder..."

"I hope you're not basing that theory solely on a   
cryptic dream I had." She flashed him a heated look. 

"I think you sell yourself short, Scully. The idea  
that we're dealing with a group fits perfectly with   
some of the perplexities of the case. I'm not saying   
that you had a 'psychic' moment. Who knows, you   
might have had a breakthrough in your sleep.   
Sometimes the body presents those breathroughs in   
wacky ways. But I trust your intuitions, even if you  
don't. I wasn't kidding when I said you could have  
been a profiler. The level of anger, the nudity of   
the victims, the torture... It all suggests an   
impassioned individual - someone who really gets off   
on all this. The kills were slow, so by the time he  
got to the end, the excitement would be   
insurmountable. So... Why weren't they sexually   
assaulted?" 

Scully's eyes darted as she thought, considering   
Mulder's question. "... Because he can't." 

Mulder flashed her a broad, toothy grin. "Exactly.  
What if the person who actually wanted these women  
dead simply couldn't rape them? He wouldn't want   
someone else to do it, because he feels he owns them.   
He's either older in age or just impotent. I'm   
leaning more towards an older suspect, though. Some   
of the cutting on the victims, the BB gun... They're   
all consistent with an older suspect. I think you   
were right, that he uses the BB gun to scare them,  
but I think it also allows him to keep up with them  
in their far younger age. It takes the edge off of   
them, adds a little pain without him getting too   
close. He's patient, and he knows the lake and the  
forest well." 

"The Bible verse is also consistent with someone   
older and socially conservative," Scully pointed out.   
"But does that put us in a corner with Asop? As much   
as I'd like to have the honor of collaring him, I'm   
having a hard time figuring where he fits in." She   
frowned. 

"I think one or more men work as 'errand boys' for  
the suspect. They're the brute force. They're  
younger, and easily bought... looking for some fun.  
Someone like Asop would get excited doing the dirty  
jobs. He'd make the kill, while the man responsible  
watches. He doesn't get excited by the actual kill...   
He gains satisfaction from watching them suffer. He   
has something personal against them, something he   
thinks they've done wrong." Mulder was trailing off,   
the details of his profile finally expressing   
themselves in a fluid manner.

"What about the victim earlier today? We don't know  
who she is yet, but the MO was distinctly changed."   
Scully pushed through his reverie. 

She could see Mulder carrying on an internal   
conversation, as though he was seated down to   
dinner with the perpetrator. She remembered a time,  
now far behind her, when she'd thought his way of   
working was difficult to watch. It was as though he  
became all parts of the story, encompassing both   
good and evil, and concealing it under a mask of   
cold, hard professionalism. 

"I think she means something different. She was   
meant to prove a point to us... to develop our   
sense of urgency. I'm disturbed by the dagger,  
though. I think it symbolizes her betrayal, somehow."  
Scully watched in fascination as a light went on   
behind his eyes, and he suddenly stood, rocked by  
his thought. "Could she have been pregnant?" 

"I'll call Paul... I don't know whether he will   
have completed the post mortem or not. The Bible   
verse was about the adulteress. Maybe that's what   
she did that was so much worse than the other victims.  
She was the one that got pregnant..." The phone was  
already to her ear. 

 

\---------------------------

 

"Well, you want to good news or the bad news first?"  
Sheriff Alan Cooke shed his hat before sinking into  
the corner of Scully's bed. She noted that the man   
appeared bone tired, his face drawn and seeming more  
wrinkled and world-weary than she remembered. 

Mulder and Scully looked at each other while the   
Sheriff took in the mess in the room - as with their  
paperwork and brainstorming session the previous   
night, papers and files were strewn accross the room   
in organized chaos, nary a place to step, let alone  
sit. 

"Actually, I'm not sure any of it is good news, so   
why don't I just go ahead?" Cooke's voice was edgy   
and sarcastic as he slouched forward. "First off,   
Rusty's got something up his ass about whatever   
happened earlier today. Now, I don't care, and I'm   
happy to stand behind y'all, but according to him,  
he filed a formal complaint with the FBI this morning.   
Something about a jurisdiction issue. He was steamin'   
something heavy when I got to the office." 

Scully almost chuckled at the Chief's predictability.  
"I'd suspected as much. What else have you got?" 

Scully hoisted herself off the floor, resisting the  
urge to groan on her way up, but Mulder remained propped   
up against the wall to the left of the bed, listening   
intently. 

"A couple things..." Cook flipped open his note-pad  
and read for a moment to center his thoughts. "First  
off, I heard from my task force back at the station;   
They heard back from the Dallas people. A canvas of   
all retreat-style establishments in the greater Dallas/  
Fort Worth area did not yield any whereabouts for   
Mrs. Virginia White, nor was any reservation made for  
her."

The two agents quietly absorbed the information.   
Scully sighed. "We could pick the husband up."

Mulder nodded silently from his seat. "We could...but  
I don't think we should."

"But he's the one who supposedly sent her off to a   
retreat. He's the most obvious suspect we have for  
her disappearance. We pick him up for kidnapping and  
we can have a warrant to search the rest of this   
house tomorrow." Scully knit her brows in confusion.

Mulder smiled wanly. "I agree that he had something   
to do with it. But, if all of these things are   
connected and Ed White is somehow involved in all of  
it, we may as well hand over our position on a silver   
platter. I think we need to keep an eye on him, maybe   
feel him out a little. But hands off. We can't risk  
spooking whoever's responsible." 

"Ok..." Scully sighed again. "Then that leaves us   
with the bridge club. They meet in... less than   
an hour."

The chirping of Scully's cell phone sent her lurching   
forward to snatch it up from its spot on the bed.   
Cooke flashed her a peculiar look, and Mulder shook   
his head at the Sheriff's cluelessness while the man   
watched his partner very closely. Was there anyone  
in this town that didn't feel like hopping into the  
sack with his partner? Mulder's irritation was   
about to get the better of him.

"Paul... what have you got?" Both men's eyes were  
glued to Scully's face through several moments of   
'yes's, 'uh-huh's, and 'I see's. Both men also felt  
jealousy growing in their chests at her widening   
smile. "You're the best, Paul. When all this is   
over, I'm bringin you something real nice." 

Her movements were efficent as Scully lowered her   
phone and snapped in shut. "She was pregnant.   
Twelve weeks... she'd likely just found out." 

Cooke startled. "The latest victim?" 

Scully nodded. "Yes. We believe the knife in her   
lower abdomen signifies that the killer was very   
well aware of it." 

"Jesus..." The Sheriff looked down at his notes.  
"That was the last piece of news. I got an ID on   
her. Her name was Jane Stark. Local girl... Like  
all the others, no family in town. She was born   
and raised here, but her folks died in a car   
accident a couple years back."

"Any especially creative, sneaky doctor idea on   
how we can determine the paternity, Scully?" Mulder   
shot the question out in a flat, disappointed voice. 

"Well, DNA will be collected as part of the   
post mortem. Unfortunately, from that point on   
its a guessing game - Obstetricians don't   
require father information for registration. We'll  
have to find a suspected father to make a   
comparison." 

Mulder let his head drop against the wall, a   
frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "Let's go   
interview the damned bridge club." 

 

\----------------------------

 

"You weren't kidding, Scully..." Mulder whispered  
into her ear as they made their way into the   
High School gym, where the bridge club was   
settling down for a rousing Friday night game.   
"It's like a Stepford convention." 

Scully couldn't fault his observation. The women  
gathered were mirror images to Virgina White's   
style vein. Scully's love of pants and her   
propensity for stepping all over social graces  
made it difficult for her to understand these   
women. She was equally disturbed about the ability  
of the so-called genteel women of the world to   
turn so ugly and hateful. Experiences in her own   
life could very easily answer her questions about  
what these women did to the victims.

"I don't have anything to say about those women."   
Their 'leader' was Vera Sutton, who was the utmost  
picture of the southern belle. If she'd had a   
little sun umbrella, she'd be twirling it   
flirtatiously in her white-gloved fingers. But her  
face was pinched, and somewhat nervous. Her bridge  
counterparts all looked on out of the corners of   
their eyes, their mannerisms cagey and unfriendly.  
Scully could see why these women made others feel  
the way they did - they were the grown up version  
of the blonde monsters parked at the "VIP" table   
in the school cafeteria. 

Scully could see Cooke hanging back, walking the  
perimeter of the gym and allowing them ample space.   
He was clearly listening, but made no attempt to   
offer anything to the interview. 

"Whether you have anything to say, or not, witnesses   
have taken note of this particular group bullying at   
least four victims in the time preceding their deaths.   
Now, that's a problem." Scully's voice was formidable,   
and Mulder watched her with interest. He could see   
her bristling around the edges, and they'd only just   
begun. 

"They were tramps, sleeping around god knows where.  
The men in this town aren't disposable, Miss Scully.  
There are only so many of them... They get hurt by  
those little whores and move somewhere else, and   
there's nothing for the rest of us. Besides, none  
of us care to lose a husband, and they can hardly  
help themselves when those girls flaunt themselves   
with bossoms and rear-ends hanging out." Vera tilted   
her chin at Scully dissmissively. 

As Mulder listened, he flashed on a portion of the   
Bible verse left on Scully's car - 'And out came a   
woman to meet him, dressed like a prostitute and   
with crafty intent.' Sounded familiar...

Scully crossed her arms against the woman's strong   
words. "Your defensiveness isn't helping, Mrs.   
Sutton. Harassment of a victim prior to his or her  
death warrants further investigation." 

"Protecting my family is hardly a crime, if you   
pardon me saying so." Vera huffed. 

"And exactly how far would you go to protect your   
family?" Scully settled an intense glare on the   
woman. 

"As far as it takes, but I'm no murderer." The   
anger was flashing wildly in the woman's eyes, and  
the women watching on grew increasingly nervous.  
"And neither are my friends. We dress this way and  
act in a socially conservative manner because we   
believe it to be what's best for our families, and   
for this town. Unfortunately, we can't just make   
people go away when we don't like them, but I'd   
hardly lay a hand on any of those women." 

Cocking her head and cracking a smirk, Scully   
signalled to the other women that she was done  
with the argument. "If you'll have a seat, I'd   
like to get a statement from you, along with your  
whereabouts at the time of each murder." 

"I'm a housewife, Agent Scully. I take care of my  
family day in and day out." Vera looked at Scully  
as though she were slow. 

"Good. Then your husband and children can   
corroborate your alibi."

 

\--------------------------

 

"It's hard to weed out the killers amongst the   
villans, Mulder." Scully fell into her bed,   
boneless and eyes already shutting of their own   
volition. 

A fruitless three hours of questioning each member  
of the bridge club had left both agents exhausted   
and more frustrated than they'd begun. Their ride   
back to the B & B, however, had included a stop at  
a car rental agency to get the agents a new car.  
Scully had wished for something a little less   
conspicuous than the bright red sedan, but she'd   
take what she could get. 

"Hey, Scully?" Mulder had his patented 'mischevious'  
look on his face, and she rolled her eyes at him  
before shooting him an incredulous look. When he   
didn't continue, Scully propped herself up on her   
elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"How much longer was Asop laid up in the hospital?"  
Mulder was clenching his hands nervously. 

"I think he was scheduled for release tomorrow   
morning." She spoke slowly and cautiously. "Do I   
even want to know why?" 

"Asop lives right on the lake. I did some checking  
earlier - He lives less than half a mile away from  
where the victims were found. I think he may have   
been housing the victims." 

"And what is it that you want to do in the middle of  
the night without a search warrant?" The eyebrow   
perfectly framed the laser shooting from her eye   
directly into his face. 

"You know me too well, Scully." His smile was wide  
and nervous. "I say we go check it out... we won't   
go into the house. I just want to get a feel for the  
place."

"Mulder..." She groaned. "Had you entertained the   
thought that Asop might not live alone? That one or  
more of the other so-called "errand boys" might live   
there with him?" 

"We'll park out on the highway and walk in. There   
should be plenty of tree coverage, Scully." He was   
half a step away from begging. 

Muler watched silently as Scully rose from the bed  
with a groan, then stalked over to the closet. Her  
hand, balled into a fist, pressed into her back as  
she walked, and he was reminded of her unhappiness  
at have slept on the floor the night before. He was  
fascinated as he watched her fish out a pair of   
black jeans and black, long-sleeved t-shirt form her  
suitcase. 

"What, that's it?" Mulder smiled. "You're actually   
going with me?" 

"You said it yourself, Mulder." She flashed him a   
smile over her shoulder. "I know you too well. If I  
don't go now, you'll just sneak out after I've gone  
to sleep." 

 

\-------------------------------

 

"Have I ever told you how hot you are in all black,  
Scully?" She could feel Mulder smiling behind her.   
She couldn't see a damn thing, though. The thick   
darkness engulfing them along the trees' edge of  
Asop's property made her feel like a wanton horror  
movie queen - Like she was just asking for something   
to go terribly wrong. The abundance of gnats and   
other mysterious winged creatures wasn't helping.

"Keep talking, Mulder... You're going to owe me big  
time after this one." Currently, they were trudging   
through ankle deep mud, careful to avoid roots and   
other blanketed hazards. Their flashlights did little   
in the foggy atmosphere. Scully supposed it was a   
hazard of working in swamp-country, but she wasn't  
ready to concede that it wasn't his fault she'd never  
wear her favorite black jeans again. 

Their car was pulled into the trees about half a mile  
down the highway. Scully was vaguely concerned that   
the vehicle might sink into the mud while sitting, and   
had wholeheartedly promised Mulder she'd kill him in   
some imaginitive way if such a thing were to happen. 

Both agents fell into silence as Asop's property came  
into view, hedged by multiple dead vehicles, all   
stripped of any lingering valuable part. Grass grew up   
around the empty hulls, giving the entire area an eerie,   
deserted feel. It was like a mechanical graveyard. The   
rest of the property was overrun with basic garbage -   
wrappers and various gadgets littered the front lawn   
leading to a house which could only be described as a   
shack. The entire house couldn't be more than three   
small rooms. It was a hillbilly paradise.

"So much for housing the victims, Mulder..." Scully   
whispered to him. "That house is poised to fall over  
any time. Where would he keep someone? There can't   
be enough room for more than one person at a time  
in that house." 

Mulder grunted quietly, spying the concrete shell   
surrounding the bottom of the house. "Look at the   
foundation, Scully. There's a basement or cellar. Its  
probably very old. A cellar would have been built to  
keep food cool before refrigeration." 

Scully sighed next to him. "I don't see any lights on.  
No working cars. I'd say no one's home."

Before any more could be said, Mulder shut off his   
flashlight and began walking toward the house. His   
shoulders were hunched and his gaze flitted from side  
to side as he made his way, his gait strong and quick.  
Scully struggled to catch up with him, also   
extinguishing her flashlight. She cursed quietly as   
she once again sunk into unstable ground and wondered   
how Mulder had managed the entire walk without any such   
incidence. 

The property was unremarkable, a junk enthusiast's   
museum. Scully's observation had been correct - they  
could practically hear the house creaking from the   
edge of the lawn. The wood appeared extremely aged and  
rotted, the door skewed to make noticeable the fact   
that the shack was no longer squared. "Bingo..." Scully  
muttered and tugged on Mulder's sleeve as she spied a   
storage shed just off to the right of the property.   
The darkened structure was small, about twice the size   
of an outhouse, and to the agents' mutual amazement,   
the door was wide open. It might have just been their   
lucky night.

Mulder kept watch as Scully turned her flashlight   
back on, carefully examining the contents of the shed.  
A lawnmower took up most of the space, but toward the  
front of the shed, various gadgets and wires lay in a  
tangle, atop empty radio hulls and toaster carcasses.  
She felt her heart race at the flash of orange, though.   
"Mulder, did you bring any gloves?" She whispered   
while she pulled out a small evidence bag, not nearly   
large enough for the long, thick strap. 

Mulder turned to shake his head, but smiled at the  
sight of the thick, orange strap, dusted in flecks  
of dried blood. "I don't know what this says about me,  
but I'm suddenly very excited." 

"I don't know if we can take this, Mulder... This is   
really blurring the lines of probable cause."

Mulder nodded. "I wish you had your camera." 

Scully hands reflexively went to her jeans pockets,   
much too tight for a camera. "What do you want to do?" 

"Leave them. Tomorrow morning, we'll pick Asop up on   
his way out of the hospital, on the strength of the   
credit card records."

"What about your concerns about handing over our   
position?" Scully squinted at him through the dim   
light. 

"We're going to have to do it eventually. At least   
now we have a direction to move in. But we're going   
to have to keep a close eye on Ed White. He might   
skip town, if he hasn't already. I haven't seen   
anyone manning the Bed and Breakfast all day." 

"We can talk about it elsewhere. Let's get out of   
here, Mulder." Scully's eyes skittered accross the  
property as she was suddenly overtaken by an uneasy  
feeling. She shone her flashlight accross the lawn,   
feeling the strong gaze she'd grown accustomed to in   
this town. Eyes she couldn't see stared at her in   
reproach, and she felt gooseflesh rising on her arms  
before she hurried after her partner. 

 

\------------------------------

 

Watching quietly from the hedge, he shook his head   
as the agents scurried back to their car. They'd   
been surprisingly simple to follow, and he once   
again wondered at the supposedly superior competence   
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Huffing to   
catch his breath, he made his out from behind the   
ungroomed shrubbery, trusty and rusted BB gun in   
hand. It wasn't the right time. Besides, he didn't   
want her partner. What would he ever do with the   
man?

Allowing so many into his circle of trust was   
proving a mistake - a costly one. Loyalties not  
withstanding, the laziness was too much to contend   
with. It was only a few steps from the shed to the   
shallow edge of the swamp, bubbling mud and   
folliage more than enough to hide the few orange  
straps. It was the last time he was cleaning up   
someone else's mess.

He still enjoyed her tremendously. She turned him on  
more than those little girls ever could have. She was  
realistic, attainable, with the smarts of a mature   
woman. And with a personality to tame. It would have  
been a pleasure to fully break her in. It was a shame  
that he couldn't keep her for long. The others, he'd   
killed for the sake of his town. But she would be for   
pure pleasure. 

Now, how to get her alone? The damn partner followed  
her around like a puppy. He was young, and excited   
by her. It was no secret they were sleeping together.   
Ed told him all about the panting and moaning he'd   
heard in her room. She may have been something   
special, but fundamentally, she'd be taken down by   
the same sin as the others. Ed would have to be   
warned; Maybe he could be of some help in return.

 

\------------------------------

 

Johnny Asop wished with every fiber of his being   
that he could turn over. After days lying flat on   
his back, leg encased in an impossibly large cast,   
he'd nearly convinced himself that he might be the   
victim of a concave ass by the time he was released. 

Flipping through the Fisherman's Magazine propped up  
on his chest one last time, Asop sighed in discontent.  
In his mind, he had a clear list of things he'd like   
to do when he got out of the 'joint'. He sure as shit  
wouldn't be going back to that hellhole job of his.   
The FBI wouldn't be on his ass if it wasn't for that   
damn job, anyway. 

He'd been promised protection in exchange for his   
loyalty, as had the others. They were supposedly   
making the town better, but all he knew was that it   
was a hell of a lot of fun getting his jollies out   
with impunity. But as much as he was into the kinky   
shit, there was no way he was sticking around long   
enough to watch that little FBI bitch slap some cuffs   
onto him. He'd be gone before noon the next day.

She was some hot little bitch, though. All temper and  
red hair, and a tight, tiny little body. He only wished   
he'd seen her holding her weapon. He groaned as he   
slid down farther in the small hospital bed, pressing   
a hand into his groin to relieve pressure. He wondered  
if she put out like the others. He'd never had an   
older woman.

"That's all you ever do, isn't, Johnny?" Asop jumped   
at the quiet voice coming from the doorway, but could   
say nothing before the door closed. "Just jack off   
while everyone else takes care of the hard shit." 

"You're the one who wanted my help, asshole." Asop's   
voice was low and angry. "Or did you forget who came  
to who?" 

"Like it or not, you're part of this. I should have  
known you couldn't keep up your end of the deal. I   
found the straps in your shed. Still dirtied." 

"Man, what the hell does that have to do with   
anything? That shit had to be kept somewhere." 

The other man's voice remained calm. "It was your job  
to get rid of them, and the evidence. Everyone plays  
a role, you little shit. The FBI found the straps." 

"Hey, man, its not my fault the FBI's got you by the   
ass. And its not my problem if you've been outsmarted   
by a little chick." Asop smiled crookedly, knowing   
he'd pressed a hot-button. 

The stiffness and electricity in the room was palpable  
as the shadowy figure made his way to the small bed,  
staring at Asop with a laser-like gaze. Johnny   
couldn't wipe the cheshire smile off his face, his   
yellowed teeth bared between chapped lips. He watched  
as the other man set down a rifle-like BB gun, propping   
it against the wall. He didn't have time to move before   
a thin hunting knife came up and to the side, slicing   
through his neck as though it were a sheet of paper.   
Johnny's last view was of a sharply drawn, smiling face,   
visible only for a second, as he couldn't seem to take   
his eyes off the steady stream of his own blood flowing   
freely.

 

\----------------------------

 

Once comfortably back at the Bed and Breakfast, Scully  
made a beeline for the shower, while Mulder resigned  
himself to sitting dirtily on the floor until the   
shower was free. As pleasant as mutual showering was,  
neither partner was awake enough for anything fun, and  
they were equally unwilling to part with hot water at  
a time such as this. 

The facts tossed around Mulder's mind in an unending   
circle. He was concerned about what they would find   
outside the building in the morning. God knew they   
couldn't spare another vehicle, and with a hot-headed  
reporter in town, they certainly couldn't afford   
another victim. He only hoped they could make it to   
the hospital before Asop managed to skip out on them.   
Something told Mulder he was on the sly. 

Trouble was, voices spoke to him from every direction,  
each screaming for a different profile. Each member   
of the team left some mark on each of those women. He  
was sure of that. But Scully had been right - it was  
difficult to weed out the guilty among the suspicious.  
He was reminded that he'd not seen Ed White on their  
way back into the house tonight.

His thoughts were interrupted by the chirping of a   
cell phone. He rose and rifled through his pockets   
before he realised that the faint ringing was coming  
from the bathroom. Scully must have left her phone   
in her pants. The shower hadn't started up yet, and  
Mulder could hear her voice throught the door as she  
answered. 

A moment of silence was followed by the door opening  
to reveal Scully's far-away and stunned face. Dried   
mud still clung to her bare ankles, momentarily   
drawing his attention away from her nude body, towel  
held dangling in front of her chest, but not wrapped  
around her. "What is it, Scully?" 

"Asop's dead. His throat was slit in his hospital   
bed less than an hour ago. That was Officer Foster.   
He said the Chief is waiting for us there." 

 

\----------------------------------

 

Mulder and Scully gratefully accepted cups of coffee  
from Officer Foster as they rounded into the hospital  
corridor that housed Asop's body. The wing was located  
deep in the heart of the hospital, as Asop had been   
housed in general watch. His injury was no longer   
urgent. Scully was slightly unnerved to see that the   
hallway was empty. Foster was the only law enforcement   
official present, leaning against the doorway to Asop's  
room and looking as though he'd jumped out of bed   
fifteen minutes prior. A pathetic stretch of crime   
scene tape hung from the doorway, barely holding itself  
to the wall. It was just sad, Scully thought.

No nurses mulled around, neither did any rubberneckers   
in hospital gowns. In fact, Scully couldn't recall   
seeing more than a couple citizens casually strolling   
the streets of Jefferson, Texas, let alone honing in   
on their crime scenes. In any city across America, the   
scene would be swarming with people hoping to catch a   
glimpse of the horrible. For the umpteenth time, Scully   
wondered what the hell was wrong with Jefferson, TX. 

"So far, its all been a dead end." For the first time,  
Scully noticed the creases and general weariness on   
Foster's face. His gaze was far away as he spoke slowly.   
He looked as though he'd had a day from hell. No doubt,  
this was the cherry on top. "No one saw anyone come or   
go who wasn't supposed to be here. There were no screams.   
There's only one nurse working this floor tonight, and  
one doctor on call. Slow night. The entire wing is almost  
empty. Asop hadn't even been on a monitor, so he was long   
gone by the time he was found.

"Who found him?" Scully asked as she watched Mulder   
enter the single room, the police tape hanging so low he  
had only to step over it with his long stride. 

"The night attending nurse. Like I said, no other nurses   
working the floor, only a couple volunteers, neither of   
whom saw a thing. The nurse said he appeared to have been   
dead for quite some time when she found him; already cold.   
The official time of discovery was just after 2 am. She  
said he was charted as fine at midnight rounds." 

Scully sighed. "Any idea when we can have a forensic   
team here?" 

"I was going to leave that to y'all." Foster appeared  
put-upon. "The Chief called me about 20 minutes after he   
got the call. Said to get you two down here, but by the   
time I got here myself, he was nowhere to be found. I  
assume he went to get his paperwork together, but I   
haven't heard a damn thing." 

Mulder perked up from inside the hospital room, walking   
to the doorjamb to join their conversation. "How long has   
it been since you've seen Chief Ford?" 

"Uh..." Foster rubbed his eyes. "I think sometime early   
last morning, when I got to work. Maybe 8 am."

The emphatic ringing of Scully's cell phone interrupted  
and she pulled the phone from her pocket to peer at the   
caller ID. "Kersh... This is going to be an excellent   
day, don't you think?" She fought the urge to roll her   
eyes. 

Mulder looked at his watch. "Its almost 5 am in DC.   
A little early to be making calls from the office. We   
must be in deep shit." 

"I imagine it can't be good." She flashed him a tight   
smile and stepped away from Mulder and Foster to   
grudgingly answer the call. She briefly wondered what   
would happen if she pretended she had no service, but  
ultimately decided she'd have to explain herself   
sooner or later. May as well do it with a couple   
thousand miles to protect her. 

"Scully." 

"Agent Scully." Kersh's voice sounded grating and   
tired, roughened with misuse. She was ready to hear the   
spit flying. "I imagine you have some idea what this   
call is about." 

"Sir?" She decided to play dumb and made her way to   
a waiting area, empty of people. 

"I just got an... excited call into my office from   
Chief of Police Russell Ford urging me to remove you   
from this case. According to Mr. Ford, among other   
things, you are not capable of handling your situation.  
I also found that he faxed a formal complaint last   
morning. My secretary hadn't delivered it to me yet. You   
want to explain to me why this man saw it fit to phone  
my office in the middle of the night?" He sounded as   
though he was ready to throttle her through the phone,  
so she resisted the urge to ask him what he was doing   
in the office in the middle of the night. In her line of   
work, she just couldn't rule out the possibility that   
it might work.

 

"I apologize, Sir, but the Chief has shown some   
reluctance to cooperate in this case. I can't fathom  
what would posess him to voice his complaints at this t  
ime of night. Unfortunately, a new victim has been   
found in this case, and Agent Mulder and I have been   
attending to that situation." She pursed her lips   
tightly. 

"Ford's indicated that the FBI presence, specifically   
you, have been uncooperative and unwilling to work   
with local law enforcement." 

Scully couldn't help but scoff. "I suppose we have a  
difference of opinion, Sir. He's been extremely   
difficult, including withholding evidence key to this   
investigation." 

"Withholding evidence?" Kersh's interest piqued, and  
Scully could practically hear his eyebrows raise.   
"That's a serious aligation, Agent." 

"Yes, it is, but accurate. The Chief wholly refused  
to relinquish his files on this case to the Bureau.   
Agent Mulder had to practically trick him into handing   
them over. He's demonstrated a sexist attitude and   
general dislike for myself and the agency. Yesterday,   
after he threatened my job, I alluded that the Bureau   
would be taking over full jurisdiction in the matter." 

"On what basis?" 

Scully bit her lip and closed her eyes, praying hard   
as she answered. "I may have indicated that the bureau   
believes the perpetrator possibly committed murders   
across state borders, thereby securing that the case is   
a federal matter." 

There was a long silence on the line, leaving Scully   
convinced that her days were numbered. He was going to   
pull her back to DC on the next available flight and   
fire her in person. What she wasn't prepared for was   
the strangled chuckle on the other end of the line. In   
all honesty, she could only hope she'd never hear the   
sound again. It disturbed her on a molecular level.

"You might make a fine bureaucrat yet, Agent Scully. I   
assume Chief of Police Ford was unhappy with your   
'declaration', which might have led to him threatening  
your job." 

"In the extreme." She was still confused. 

"Keep me apprised, Agent. I'd rather not be bothered  
with any more late night calls. Should Mr. Ford   
interrupt your investigation again, direct him to my  
office line." 

"Yes, Sir. And thank you, Sir." 

 

\-----------------------------

 

"So?" Mulder looked at Scully anxiously as she made   
her way back to Asop's room. He appeared truly   
worried.

She shrugged. "Kersh recieved Ford's formal complaint.   
Fortunately, he thought the jurisdiction ploy was a   
helpful tool, rather than fodder for my dismissal. I   
thought I was about to be called back to DC and   
waterboarded." 

Mulder nodded. "I told you I liked it. Any idea   
where the Sheriff is? Foster's been trying to hail   
him since he called us. No luck." 

"He didn't mention anything to me." Scully's brows   
knit in concern. "Where was he staying?" 

Both men gave her their best "Don't ask me" looks.   
Scully did roll her eyes this time and picked up her  
cell phone again. A quick call to the Field Office   
in Beaumont, and a forensic team was on its way.   
Another, less pleasant call, got Paul Fisher out of  
bed and on his way to Jefferson, grumbling under his  
breath. It was the one time she'd heard him less   
than enthusiastic to do anything. With a promise of   
breakfast on her, he sighed, "I'll be there in a few  
hours." 

Mulder, Scully, and Foster stood, exchanging glances  
for a tense moment before turning to the doorway to  
Asop's room. The man was a sorry sight to see. His   
young face was twisted in shock, eyes staring to   
the left of him and up, almost as though they still   
held an imprint of his last vision, his killer   
standing over him. Blood had flown freely from his   
throat, but now it was beginning to dry and flake on  
his pallid skin. A profusely large amount pooled in   
his lap, soaking the hospital sheets and his gown.   
His left arm was outstretched over the side of the   
bed, as though he'd reached out for his killer   
defensively at some point. Scully stepped forward   
for a closer look. 

"Must have nicked an artery. Apparently Asop had bad   
luck that way." She raised her eyebrows, and both men   
grimaced at her joke. "Here's something interesting,   
though..." 

Mulder and Foster crowded closer to look at Asop's  
neck, where Scully was pointing. 

"See the consistency of the wound? Its equally   
deep almost all the way across." She turned to see  
both men nod eagerly. "It indicates that the killer  
is left handed. The cuts on other victims were too   
shallow to tell, but this one is perfect. A right   
handed individual would have slashed back-handed   
against the neck, which would have placed   
significantly more power onto the end of the slash." 

Mulder walked around to the other side of the body,  
standing in the space between the window and the   
bed. "He isn't terribly tall, either. The wound   
is straight across the neck, with no angle. He's   
not as tall as I am." 

"Mulder, its going to be a while before the   
forensics team or Paul get here. I think we better  
go look for Cooke and regroup. We're doing nothing  
but contaminating the scene." 

Mulder nodded. "Let's go." 

Neither agent particularly noticed Foster leaning   
dejectedly against the wall. They were already well  
on their way to the ward exit. Foster turned and   
sighed before heading to the waiting room to grab   
a magazine. Setting up camp on a chair just outside  
Asop's door, he waited for the cavalry to arrive. 

 

\----------------------------

 

"What do you think, Mulder?" Scully asked as they   
pulled out of the hospital parking lot, Mulder   
driving. Neither had discussed it, but she assumed   
they were headed back to the Bed and Breakfast. 

"As per the usual with this case, I'm confused. I   
wasn't picking up any sort of feeling back there.  
Everything about the scene was devoid of any real   
emotion. Very clinical. I know the facts, though -   
Asop looked extremely suspicious. I would have to   
say he was entangled in all this, and the Boss got   
wind that we were looking at him for the murders.   
But I'm still not entirely certain of the why. I   
mean, why not let the kid take the fall for   
everything? I'm not certain of the MO on any of   
it." 

Scully nodded. "I know I don't say this nearly   
enough, Mulder, but I'm thankful that you're here.  
I question my ability to finish this case without   
your help." 

"Yeah, right." Mulder chuckled. "Cooke and Fisher   
are both ready to do your bidding at a moment's   
notice, and Foster's not far behind them. Be careful,  
though - I don't want them following you home. When   
we get back to DC, I'm locking you in my apartment   
for several days. In a row. They might not like it." 

Scully grinned and laid a mock slap on his arm.   
Mulder smiled back to her and enjoyed the sight of  
her face softened in the dim dashboard light. As he  
neared the Carriage House, though, he saw her eyes  
widen and she pointed to the curb, where Sheriff   
Cooke's county vehicle was parked. The car was   
empty. She sounded uneasy as she spoke. "You don't   
suppose he decided to get a room here instead of   
wherever?" 

"Maybe he's waiting for us." Mulder shrugged, but   
both agents were quiet and cautious as they made   
their way into the unnaturally silent and dark   
house. 

"Mulder..." Scully whispered to him as they neared   
the door, and he nodded that he saw the open door.   
Not a light was on in the foyer, and neither could   
see more than a few feet into the house. With   
mutual understanding, weapons were drawn. Mulder   
silently gestured Scully into the house first, his   
weapon raised to cover her. 

Pale blue moonlight shone in the room, leaving little  
visibility, but enough for Scully to point out the   
still-shiny red blood droplets on the tile floor of   
the entry way. Mulder followed the blood trail   
forward, Scully flanking him defensively, peering   
anxiously around the room as they made their way to   
the kitchen. 

The kitchen still held the same air of discomfort   
Scully had picked up during her confrontation with   
Virginia White. Where had the woman gone? She may   
have been strange, but Scully felt a pang of regret   
that she might find Mrs. White mixed in among the   
growing body count. 

In the kitchen, the blood began to smear, half   
footprints visible in the red mess. Mulder pointed  
to the hallway behind the kitchen, where the blood   
continued. Scully wasn't familiar with what was down  
the hallway. She'd assumed it was the keepers'   
quarters, as Mrs. White had always seemed to come   
from the hallway. Where was her husband? More   
importatly, where was Cooke?

The hallway was narrow, and the agents went one at  
a time, careful not to smudge the blood stains on the  
floor. Not a door flanked the hallway, but as it   
turned tightly to the right, there was a closet-like   
door obscuring a laundry machine on the left, and   
what appeared to be a cellar door on the right.

The cellar door was white-washed, deadbolted and   
ominous looking, upon closer inspection, also smudged   
with blood. Attempting to operate in silence, Mulder   
slowly slid the deadbolt, then reached for his pocket   
flashlight. Obscured in the back of the house, he   
could only hope the flashlight beam wouldn't be seen.   
Hands now full, he looked at Scully pleadingly and she   
raised a diapproving eyebrow before she leaned  
forward and turned the doorknob. Both agents noted   
that the door opened in rather than out, and they  
stared into the blackened void inside curiously.   
The flashlight shone on an old wooden staircase, and  
Mulder noted that the cellar didn't house a single   
thing, that he could see.

A short, angry grunt was the only warning the agents   
got before they were slammed at full speed by a   
large human being, hurtling himself down the hallway   
and into their bodies. Mulder yelped as he lost his   
balance, pitching sideways into the cellar. Scully,   
dazed on the hallway floor, could hear multiple  
sickening thuds as his body bounced down the aged   
staircase. 

"Couldn't leave it alone, could you?" Ed white's   
face was visible in the dim light as she backed   
herself up from the spot she'd fallen to. The hulking   
man stalked toward her, his face contorted in rage.   
"I killed my fucking wife because of you, bitch!" 

Patting the area around her, Scully fumbled to find  
her gun. Her eyes widened in panic when she was met  
by the wall at the end of the hallway. 

"Looking for this?" White shook her gun at her from  
a few feet away. His eyes were manic and he was   
sweating profusely in the stale air. "You're lucky I   
don't shoot you right here. But I've got some business   
to attend to first." 

As White's pace quickened and he approached Scully,   
her hand went up in front of her face defensively.   
Then, she was sent into confusion as the man scooped  
her up carelessly. Her vision jarred as she fought   
against him. All she heard was another angry growl   
as the large man fairly tossed her into the cellar,  
uncaring of her terrifyingly noisy tumble down the   
stairs.

 

\----------------------------- 

 

Paul gazed at Johnny Asop's lifeless body and shook  
his head. Apparently, being a lifelong punk didn't  
agree with the kid. Johnny's contempt for society   
in general was famous. Paul didn't doubt if every   
law enforcement district in the great state of   
Texas was aware of Mr. Asop. 

Where in the hell were Scully and Mulder? When he'd  
arrived, Foster was dead on his feet, practically   
spilling out of his chair and not a soul in sight.   
For that matter, where was that son of a bitch   
Rusty? Paul shook his head again. 

As he watched the forensics team going about thier  
various tasks, he glanced at his watch. The sun   
would be just coming up. Paul's attention was   
stolen, though, when he spied a younger man making  
his way down the hospital corridor. He was   
strikingly clean-cut, and his gaze shifted around   
the hallway in a paranoid sweep. The man was the  
embodiment of the boy next door, but Paul was   
concerned with the large camera hanging from the  
man's neck. 

Proactively, Paul approached the young man first.  
"Can I help you? Are you part of the Photography  
squad?" 

Shaking his head, the man spoke reluctantly. "I'm  
here against my better judgement. My name is Jason   
Caldwell. I'm a reporter from Dallas, working on   
this case." 

Paul felt the politician in him rebuff, but   
something told him Caldwell had something to say. 

"How can I help you, son?" 

"I came to speak with Agent Scully. She gave me  
her card and offered me an exclusive, but that's   
not what this is about. I think I saw something   
important. In fact, I think my life might be in   
danger because of it." 

Paul was already deep in thought, nodding. "Let   
me get Officer Foster over here. We'll go where we  
can discuss this privately." 

 

\------------------------

 

Gathered at a secluded picnic table in the   
hospital courtyard, the three men watched the sun  
rising as they seated themselves. Caldwell huddled   
over his camera, his continual look of utter paranoia   
still etched onto his otherwise unlined face. 

"Did you get Mulder and Scully?" Paul asked Foster  
as he seated himself. 

The officer shook his head in the negative. "I   
tried both numbers I have for them. No luck." 

Both Paul and Foster removed their respective note  
pads, eagerly turning their attention to the young  
reporter. Paul cleared his throat and addressed him  
first. "What is it that you saw, Mr. Caldwell?" 

"Well, first off, ever since that asshole Chief of  
Police lied to me, I've been tailing him as closely  
as I can." Caldwell spat his disgust.

"Chief Ford?" Paul's eyebrows rose. 

Caldwell nodded. "Guy told me the deaths were   
accidental, and implied that I should leave town   
before I was 'escorted'. I've been looking out for  
a little dirt, if you catch my drift." 

"And you found it?" Foster interjected. 

"Oh, yeah. In spades. He doesn't do much else but   
work, but last night I followed him to a little old  
victorian style in the middle of the B&B 'strip'.   
And who do I see come out the door? Vera Sutton. I   
know Mulder and Scully were looking into her bridge  
club in connection with the murders. He goes into   
her house, but doesn't come out for two hours -   
until after midnight." 

Paul's concern was visible on his face. "And what   
time did he arrive at Vera Sutton's house?"

Caldwell thought for a moment. "Fairly early, maybe  
10:00."

Foster looked at Paul, confusion and disgust   
winning over his countenance. "That leaves him   
unaccounted for at the time of Asop's death." 

Paul nodded and rubbed his hands over his face.   
"Did you notice anything else strange?" 

Caldwell shook his head emphatically. "He came out  
of the house and saw me sitting in my car. He made  
eye contact, and started running towards me. He   
was carrying a damn rifle. I booked it. I'm not   
sticking around here to get killed. No story's   
worth this shit." 

"We'll potentially need your testimony later down   
the line. Can we count on your statement?" Paul put   
on his mask of polite professionalism, hiding the   
jumping of his heart. 

"You know it - that guy's bad news, if you'll   
excuse the pun." Caldwell grinned.

The coroner and officer watched the reporter as  
he fairly ran to his truck and sped off. Both men  
were left sitting at the table in shock, unsure of  
how to proceed. 

 

\--------------------------

 

"Jesus..." Mulder sighed as he heard Scully   
scratching around beside him. He was relieved to   
hear her move after her wild tumble down the stairs.  
"I may never walk again, Scully. And you thought   
*sleeping* on the floor was a bad idea..."

His attempt at humor was met with continued labored  
breathing and deep sighing, but he could see nothing  
in the pitch black of the cellar. "Scully... are you  
ok?" 

"Where's the flashlight, Mulder?" Her voice was   
wispy over her high breathing. 

"I think I dropped it before I even made it through  
the door." He sounded chagrinned. 

"Use your cell phone light." 

Mulder reached into his pocket and pulled out the   
small device, relieved to find that he hadn't broken  
yet another cell phone. "Well, we don't have any   
reception, if that's what you're after." 

He crawled toward her voice until her face was  
visible in the dim blue light emanating from the   
phone. Scully was still silent, but breathing  
somewhat deeper. Had she had the breath knocked out   
of her? 

"What's the matter?" Mulder asked quietly as he   
finally reached her, sitting with her back propped  
against the bottom step of the stairs. 

To his horror, Scully lifted her arm into the blue  
light, bringing its mangled shape into clear view   
for him. The bone hadn't pierced the skin, and the  
angle was slight, but there was no mistaking the   
break about four inches above her wrist. The limb  
hadn't yet begun to swell, and the spindly, limp  
quality of the arm made Mulder feel vaguely   
nauseated. 

"Shit..." He muttered. 

"Its alright." Her voice was slowly returning to  
its natural volume. "We need to figure out what in   
the hell's going on here. As long as I can walk,   
I'll be fine."

"We thought Ed was suspicious..." Mulder trailed off.

"He confessed to me that he murdered his wife. But,  
here's the thing: He says he murdered her because of  
me." 

"Wow. So, that means, while involved, Ed White isn't  
in charge." 

The phone went dark, and Mulder pressed the 'cancel'  
button again to light the screen, Scully's face   
coming back into view. She was nodding. "He said he  
has something to attend to. Said he should just kill  
me...but it seemed to me he had someone else he   
wanted to reach first." 

"That also means he intends to come back and kill   
you... probably both of us. Think we can take the   
door down before he gets back?" 

Scully smiled sadly and nodded toward her arm. "I'm   
afraid I won't be much help in that department." 

A sudden shuffling from the dark nethercorner of the  
cellar sent both agent jumping. Mulder snatched at  
his back for his weapon and cursed and the reminder  
that the gun had been flung in a random direction   
at their attack. A weak voice followed the strange   
noise. "I think I can help you in that department." 

Scully's head whipped around at the voice. "Cooke?" 

A hiss and sigh came before the Sheriffe's markedly  
weakened voice. "You betcha." 

In the light of Mulder's cell phone, both agents   
rose. Scully favored her injured arm while she dug  
in her pocket for her own phone and turned on the   
light. The illumination was enough to see the   
Sheriff tucked into the wall beneath the bare-bones  
wooden staircase. As they made their way to the man,  
Scully noticed the blood trailing from his leg. 

"What happened, Sheriff?" Scully whispered as she   
carefully knelt beside him, not wanting to further  
injure her arm out of stupidity. 

"I came to find you two, but it was the middle of   
the night. So, I knocked instead of letting myself   
in. Next think I know, this big son of a bitch   
flings the door open and goes at me with a kitchen   
knife. Took out a big chunk of my leg before he   
hauled me back here and threw me down the stairs."

"That's Ed White, Virginia White's husband and   
responsible for her disappearance." Mulder supplied.

"I gathered as much after your conversation."

"You sounded like you know a way out of here."   
Scully sounded anxious, and Mulder could see the   
subtle wince on her face. She was in a tremendous  
amount of pain, but she wasn't saying. 

Cooke grunted as Scully reached down with her   
uninjured arm and placed pressure on the gaping   
wound in his thigh. Mulder's face curled in   
disgust when he saw the blood bubble over Scully's  
hand and flow freely to the floor. He didn't need   
his partner to tell him it looked like White managed  
to hit an artery. When Cooke's breathing returned to   
normal, he spoke.

"All of these old, more expensive houses have   
entrances to what they call the Moonshine Express.   
Its a small tunnel that leads to an opening at the   
creek on the edge of town. Moonshiners would bring   
their orders through the tunnel and leave them in   
the buyers' cellars undetected." 

"How long to the creek?" Mulder practically buzzed   
in excitement. 

"Not very. Its a small town, but its been a while   
since I've toured it. Maybe three quarters of a   
mile. But the tunnel connects to several other houses.  
If you're lucky, and quick, you might find a cellar   
with working cell reception." 

"Can you walk?" Mulder was now dead serious and   
Scully looked at him to see the "Get 'er done" look   
pasted on his face.

Cooke chuckled. "Not a chance. I'm going to bleed   
out all the quicker if I start walking. I'm no fool-  
I know how bad this is." 

Mulder went to argue and Scully stopped him with a  
tender look. "He's right, Mulder. Walking would put  
him in significantly more jeopardy. If we can get the  
bleeding to slow, and he can manage to stay out of   
White's way, he'll be fine. Help me take my t-shirt  
off."

Mulder raised his eyebrows at her, and Scully met   
his amusement with a withering glare. She remained on   
the floor while he negotiated the shirt. He was careful  
as he pulled her good arm out first, pulled the shirt  
over her head, and then worked the broken arm out of   
the garment. He was relieved to see that she wore   
a thinner white t-shirt underneath. 

He held the shirt out to her and she shook her head.  
"I need you to tear it for me. Straight down from the  
collar if you can." 

He made quick work of the tear and Scully shot him a  
wan smile as she turned to Cooke and nodded toward   
the man's leg. "Now, I need you to wrap his leg several  
times, as tightly as you can. Try to knot it directly  
over the wound - it concentrates the pressure."

After he finished, she reached over with her good hand  
and tested the bandage. "Perfect. That should stuanch   
the bleeding slowly. Are you sure you're ok to be left   
alone?" 

Cooke nodded. "He's not after me. He just wanted me   
out of the way. I'm sure when he notices that you two  
are missing, he'll be seven different kinds of pissed,  
and he'll probably assume I went with you."

"How are we supposed to find the opening to the tunnel?"  
Mulder was practically bouncing on his heels, his eyes  
darting around the bricked room. 

"It'll be low, so feel just a couple feet from the   
floor. The bricks will stick out a bit. There'll be a   
hollowed out handle at the bottom so you can drag the   
door out from the wall. You should be able to pull it   
with you when you reach the other side." 

Scully nodded her understanding to Cooke while Mulder  
began his search for the door. "Thank you for all your  
assistance, Sheriff. Your help has been immeasurable."

"My pleasure, Agent. You go catch that asshole. And   
watch that arm, Scully." 

Scully winced at the reminder of her injury, and it   
seemed that the pain came rushing back in a flash.   
All she could think was that she wished it wasn't   
her trigger arm. 

"Ahhh..." Mulder sighed in satisfaction as a small  
square of the wall pulled away to reveal a dark, dank  
tunnel. "Hey, Scully, its like we're going to be real,  
live Goonies!"

"Shut up, Mulder." She chuckled as she walked to the   
door, still holding her broken arm against her abdomen.

"Ladies first?" Mulder grinned. 

"You've tried that line before, buddy." Scully shook   
her head. "But, OK." 

Once both agents were situated into the narrow, one-  
man tunnel, Cooke called out to them before the door   
faded back into the wall. "Good Luck, y'all!" 

 

\--------------------------

 

The now-risen sun lit a disturbing scene at the   
carriage house. Their combined efforts at hailing   
Mulder and Scully on their phones yielding no   
result, Paul and Officer Foster made their way to   
search for the agents themselves. As of yet, the   
bloodly hospital crime scene had revealed nothing   
of interest. Their earlier conversation with Jason  
Caldwell, however, had left both men shaken. A   
stealthy drive by both Rusty Ford and Vera Sutton's   
homes also found both driveways empty, and the   
Chief of Police had not been seen at the station at  
all that morning. 

A talk with the dispatcher and Foster had every   
officer working that day ready to call at the first   
sign of the wayward Chief. "But, I don't think he's   
going to turn up." Foster had warned Paul. "He knew   
Caldwell was watching him. The gig is up. He doesn't   
have anything to lose."

"And what exactly is the 'gig', Officer?" Paul had   
pushed him. 

Foster had shook his head in frustration. "I'm not   
sure of anything. But I know that Vera's trouble.   
She's a pain in the ass anyway, but according to   
Caldwell, Mulder and Scully were looking at her for   
the other murders. And Rusty's behavior's been   
strange for quite some time, I just haven't had any   
reason to suspect something like this." 

Now pulling up at the Carriage House, Paul and   
Foster each smiled in relief as they spied Sheriff  
Cooke's vehicle and Scully's rental car pulled aside   
together. Their hopes were dashed, however, at the   
blood smeared across the open doorway of the bed and   
breakfast. Both men shared wide-eyed glances. Without   
a second thought, Foster bent to retreive his 9mm   
back-up pistol, holstered to his ankle. Paul served   
the officer a quirked eyebrow when he passed the  
pistol his way, but nodded his thanks and watched as   
Foster raised his own, much sturdier, service weapon. 

Following the younger man into the house, Paul was   
taken aback by the stillness of the foyer. He could   
see more blood trailing through the small living   
area and into the kitchen. It was luridly bright in   
the overwhelmingly white room. There was something   
cold and stale about the house, and Paul allowed a   
frivolous chill to course down his spine. 

Foster was now at the stairs, signalling that he was   
moving to clear the upstairs bedrooms. Not wishing to   
press his luck on his own, Paul followed him up the   
narrow staircase. The trip down the empty hallway   
found all rooms empty with the exception of the two   
Mulder and Scully had rented. Knowing Scully's room   
to be home base, Foster approached the door and   
pulled a basic lock-pick from his belt holster.

"I didn't think the force allowed those, Officer."  
Paul raised his eyebrow and quirked a smile. 

"Desperate times, and all that, Paul. Cover me,  
Please." 

It took no more to convince Paul to sit watch at  
the top of the stairs, weapon poised at the front   
door, barely visible from his vantage point. He was   
startled when Foster cursed as he worked the   
stubborn lock, and shot the Officer another "look".   
When the lock finally gave way, Foster made quick   
work of shuffling through the piles of paperwork   
and notes spread liberally across the bed. The   
stacks seemingly revealed nothing new, just an   
assortment of some of Mulder's more questionable   
thoughts in his effort to profile the suspect.   
Foster could see he hadn't come across what he had   
easily - pages upon pages revealed that Mulder just   
couldn't peg the guy. 

"Paul, look at this..." Foster raised one such sheet   
of notes when Paul came in from the hallway. "Mulder   
thought the killings were a team effort. And that the   
team included Ed White. We need to get downstairs." 

"What's downstairs?" 

"I'm not really certain. The Whites never invited  
anyone to the rest of the house, but I know they   
have their own quarters behind the kitchen. I saw  
Mrs. White come from there when I attended to a call   
here."

"If I remember correctly Chief Ford and Ed White are   
around the same age, aren't they?" Paul asked   
absently. 

Foster scoffed. "More like best friends. They have  
lunch together at least three times a week." 

"Well, let's not waste any more time. Someone got  
hurt here." For once, Paul had no smile to offer.  
"And I've never liked Rusty." 

 

\----------------------------------- 

 

Mulder turned when he heard yet another grunt from   
his partner. In the pitch black confines of the   
tunnel, he could see very little. Their lack of a   
flash light was becoming bothersome, and he cursed   
himself for his inability to hold onto anything in a   
fight. The one-man tunnel was pitted with roots,   
jutting rocks and other annoyances. Walking by the   
lights of their cell phones wasn't helpful in the   
least. While the blue light had worked well in the   
cellar, it served only to illuminate two feet or so   
in any direction, and the ground in front of them   
was completely obscured. 

"You sure you're OK, Scully?" 

A frustrated sigh left her and he turned to see her   
face cast in the weak blue glow. Even in the less   
than adequate light, he could see that her face was   
paper-white and a fine sheen on sweat was dewey on   
her cheeks and forehead. It wasn't warm in the small  
underground tunnel. 

"It hurts like hell, Mulder." She attempted to growl,  
but her energy was sapped by the injured arm held  
tightly against her abdomen. "And I keep bumping into  
outcroppings, which isn't helping." 

"What can I do to help?" He dragged out his soft,   
conciliatory voice before he had time to consider the  
consequences. 

"I know you're just trying help me out, but you can  
back off and keep walking. We're not helping anything  
being stuck in the middle of this hellhole tunnel.   
With our luck, it'll cave it before we can manage to  
make it across town. Besides, we don't know when White   
might return and come after us from either front. I   
think its obvious he knows this area, Mulder." 

She could barely see Mulder nod thoughtfully. "I   
agree. We need to keep moving. But, you need medical  
attention, Scully." 

"It hurts. I feel a little shocky. But we can't   
afford to show our faces at the hospital right now.   
We need to bring in White and whomever else is   
responsible before they get spooked and skip town.   
Right now, we have the upper hand... and I'd like   
to keep it that way." If she could have flipped her  
hair in victory, she would have. 

It was Mulder's turn to sigh. "But you can't be in   
the field with a broken limb. Its not your trigger   
arm, but we both know your accuracy will be sorely   
compromised by shooting one-handed." 

"Well, then, we're going to have to be a team, aren't  
we?" Scully raised her eyebrows at him. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" His annoyance rising  
in his voice, Mulder grabbed her uninjured shoulder,  
imploring her for an answer. 

The wind deflated from her sailes, Scully's shoulders  
drooped in exhaustion and she let out a long sigh.   
"It doesn't mean anything. It means I'm in pain, and  
I'm pissed, and I'm ready to get the hell out of here.  
We need to bring White in. Now." 

"You're right. But, let's do things one at a time. We  
need to get out of here, and then figure out where   
to find the bastard." 

"Who do you think he's working with?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Its like you said - there are  
so many potential villians, I don't know where to   
start. And what I'm scared about is that there may be  
more than we can apprehend." 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Standing in the blackened cellar, Paul was startled   
by the disembodied voice calling to him from the dark  
unknown. He and Foster both turned wildly, the single  
maglite the officer carried not particularly helpful.   
The sound seemed to be coming from behind the stairs,  
and Paul adressed his question there. 

"Who's there?" He attempted to keep the shake out of  
his voice. There was something unsettling about the   
cellar - a feeling that unfortunate things had   
happened there, and not just that day. 

"Alan." The Sheriff's voice had grown weak and raspy,  
but was loud enough to carry in the quiet cellar. 

Running toward the sound of the other man's voice,   
Paul soon saw the Sheriff illuminated in Foster's   
flashlight. "Jesus... What's going on here, Alan?  
There's blood all over the place upstairs."

Cooke sighed. "Ed White. Asshole stabbed the shit   
out of me..." He pointed to his injured leg. "The   
blood's all mine, I think. Mulder and Scully got out   
of here a while ago." 

"Mulder and Scully were here?" Foster interrupted.

"White found them, too. Caught 'em by surprise;   
Muler fell down the stairs, and White threw Scully   
down the stairs after him. He hasn't been back yet.  
I think he might be dead." 

"Why do you say that?" Paul asked. 

"He was supposedly going to confront someone else.  
He told Scully he would kill her later because he   
had other business to attend to. Its been a while."   
Cooke shrugged. "Maybe whoever else he was   
consorting with..." 

Foster and Paul stared at each other in the dim   
light. Paul shook his head. "Rusty..." 

Cooke's head came up ramrod straight, his head   
seemingly clearing of fog and shock. "Chief Ford?   
You think he's got something to do with this?" 

Foster sighed. "We think its a possiblity." 

"Based on what?" Suddenly, Cooke sounded his old   
self. 

"We'll talk about it in the car. We've got to get   
you out of here." Foster bent to help Cooke up, and  
gestured for Paul to do the same. 

"How did Mulder and Scully get out of here?" Paul  
asked as he hoisted the other man off the ground. 

"I showed them the entrance to the Moonshine   
Express. We need to go pick them up first. They'll  
be coming out the other side any time now." Cooke  
grunted as he attempted to take a step on his   
bleeding leg. "And, Scully broke her arm in her   
tumble down the stairs."

"Then let's not waste any time, gentlemen. We're   
going to take these sons of bitches down." Paul   
half laughed. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

"Now what?" Mulder looked beyond the tunnel opening  
to the serene creek before them. The tumbling, clear  
water was seemingly too beautiful for the grim   
situation the agents faced. He had to tamp down the  
urge to seat himself on one of the many large rocks  
surrounding the water. 

He watched Scully closely as she, hunched over   
slightly, walked around the side of the tunnel to   
view the relatively quiet street above. She sighed.   
"I have no idea where we are, but we didn't walk far.   
It would have been a quick walk if not for the dark.   
I think we're going to have to walk back to get the   
car." 

Mulder nodded and began walking to the street. Scully  
could see him chewing on his lip, obviously mulling  
something over in his head. His posture was dejected  
and frustrated at the same time, his head bent while  
his eyes refused to level with hers. 

"What's wrong with you?" She approached him almost   
meekly, and Mulder mentally kicked himself at the   
sight of the open exhaustion in her face. 

"I want you to take care of yourself." 

"I thought we agreed; we need to pick White up and  
get the ball rolling. We'll regroup after we get our   
hands on him." 

"Then what? The Sheriff isn't going to allow us to   
use his interrogation room." 

Scully scoffed. "He's an SOB, but why would he do   
that?" 

"I just have a feeling." At the raising of Scully's  
eyebrow, he grappled for her attention. "No, listen;   
He's not going to want to see a local go down for   
this. He'll fight us over it." 

"He'll lose." 

"And you'll still have a broken arm." Mulder heard   
the words fly out of his mouth, and watched her   
look away in frustration. 

"What do you want me to do?" Scully sighed, and   
Mulder almost sighed with her at the resignation in  
her voice. 

"Let me take you to the hospital. I'll find Foster,  
and we'll pick White up together. We'll come and   
get you to finish up." 

The sound of a horn bleeting reminded the agents of  
the fact that they stood beside a busy street. It   
was late morning, and traffic was somewhat sparse,  
but present. Both agents took a second look at the  
police cruiser honking at them, though, and sighed   
in relief at the sight of Foster and Paul seated in   
the front. 

As the vehicle pulled to the side of the road, Paul  
rolled down the window. "We've got no time to waste.  
Hop in!" 

Mulder practically leapt forward to open the back   
door of the cruiser for his partner. He paused at   
the prominent blood stain on the upholstery. "Is   
there something you need to tell us, boys?" 

"Cooke. He tipped us off on your whereabouts, but   
we had to drop him at the hospital. We thought he   
might bleed to death if we waited much longer. He   
didn't even have it in him to argue." 

"Unfortunately, this one does..." Mulder looked to  
Scully and instantly regretted the quip. She passed  
him a hard glare, signalling that she was done   
discussing the subject. As she slid into the car,   
he could see her grimace at the blood stain. She   
carefully maneuvered herself so that she was sitting   
in the exact middle of the seat, avoiding the stain   
altogether. There wasn't much room to spare for him   
as he squeezed himself in and shut the door. 

"I'm afraid you'll need to drop me off as well..."  
Scully cleared her throat and did her damnedest to  
pretend she was going of her own volition. 

"Before we do that, some ugly shit's gone down   
this morning..." Paul turned in the passenger side  
seat to look at both agents. "You two look like   
crap." 

Mulder cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What   
happened?" 

"That reporter... Caldwell? He showed up at the   
hospital this morning..." 

Scully practically growled. "We had an agreement..." 

Paul raised his hand to stop her. "He'd been   
trailing Chief Ford... He was pissed off at him for  
trying to pull a fast one. Anyway, he trailed him   
to Vera Sutton's home; And witnessed that the Chief  
spent quite some time there. Trouble is, Ford came  
out to leave and saw Caldwell. According to him,   
Ford came after him like he was going to kill him." 

Mulder bit his lip. "Ford's involved. He's keeping  
secrets. He's got enough power to be behind it all."

"We thought so, too." Silence echoed through the   
car, the somber stale air enough to choke on. 

"Scully's not safe at the hospital alone." Mulder   
was speaking absently, and Scully shot him a   
questioning glance, hoping he'd see her through the  
fog. "Ford's never liked you. He's likely getting   
rid of his collaborators - Asop, White. I think   
White's dead. He might take a crack at you if you're  
a sitting duck." 

"But his being at Vera Sutton's proves nothing more  
than that he might be having an affair with her. He   
was working with White, Asop.. Who else?" Scully   
asked softly while Paul peered from the front seat,   
Foster nervously glancing in the rear view mirror. 

"There's someone else, alright. Someone personal to   
him. The person who killed the girl in your car. It   
was different because it was someone with a separate   
motivation. Someone who had something personal to   
lose by Jane Stark's pregnancy."

"Vera Sutton." Scully supplied. 

Mulder smiled widely. "Scully, you're a genius!"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, if he was indeed   
having an affair with her, that would track." 

"It's not that, though. Think about it. Vera spoke  
at length about her hatred for these girls who've  
been murdered - for their "type". You hear Ford   
using verbage to suggest that he does what's best  
'for the town'. They're in cahoots, but Vera killed   
that girl." He was speaking at lightning speed, and  
Paul watched on from the front seat in wide-eyed   
confusion. 

"But, what do we have in the way of evidence that   
Vera's involved?" Paul attempted to rain Mulder in   
just a little bit. 

Mulder thought for a moment, his brain practically  
smoking behind wide, unseeing eyes. "Think back to   
her file, Scully. What was her family like?" He was  
dangling the carrot in front of her face, and she  
fought the urge to call him out on it. 

"Husband, three kids..." She couldn't help the   
exasperation in her voice. "Dog, fish..." 

It was Mulder's turn to raise a brow at her. "How   
old were the kids?" 

"One out of the house... Maybe 21 or so. The other   
two in High School." Scully's own eyes brightened,  
her synapses finally synthesizing the answer for   
her. Paul continued to look on in anticipation. 

"The son's the key." The two agents melted into   
silent communication, unaware of the two other   
people in the car, anxiously awaiting their   
explanation. Shaking her head, Scully turned to   
address Paul. 

"The adult son, Paul." Scully focused her laser  
like gaze on the older man. "He got Jane Stark   
pregnant. Vera Sutton killed her." 

Paul let out the breath he was holding. "Where do  
we find Vera and Rusty? I assume he's protecting  
her." 

Scully deferred to Mulder, who was still deep in   
thought. "Asop's. That's where the evidence was.   
They'll want to protect the property."

"Evidence?" Foster spoke for the first time since  
they got into the car, his steely gaze watching   
them from the rear view mirror.

"Straps. Moving-style straps laced with blood.   
We're fairly certain they were the murder weapon   
in all but Stark's murder." Mulder couldn't have  
spoken more matter-of-factly.

"So you knew Asop was involved." Foster sounded   
vaguely irritated. 

"We were pretty certain, yes. But we were also   
sure he was working in tandem with other parties.   
And, we found the straps during an illegal search.  
They would be inadmissable. It wasn't worth   
risking only to watch him walk." Mulder spoke   
clearly and forcefully, defending his position. 

Paul ignored his outburst and turned to Scully,   
speaking softly. "What do we need to do for you,   
Dana?" 

Scully was reminded instantly of why she liked   
Paul. He was present in the moment, and sparked   
instant connections with those around him because   
he ultimately cared. "We need to set it. You   
remember basic emergency room procedure, Mr.   
Fisher?" She flashed him a coy smile, but the   
effect was somewhat drained by the white cornmeal  
color of her face and the sweat still visible on  
her brow. 

Paul nodded. "Let's stop by the hospital and get  
some supplies. I know the administrator. We can go  
out to the Motel 6. No one in town ever goes by   
there. Mostly truck drivers stay there, and its   
loaded with Lot Lizards and dealers. We can get  
you two cleaned up and figure out what the hell to  
do." 

"Wait..." Mulder's eyes widened and he turned to   
Scully. "You're going to let him set your arm   
without pain medication?" 

Scully sent him a wan smile. "I trust Paul. You   
know, he had to go to medical school, too. Besides,  
I can't afford to be conked on pain meds right   
now. I'll just have to shove a sock in my mouth   
or something."

She smiled at her joke and Paul laughed. Meanwhile,  
Mulder felt sick to his stomach. 

 

\------------------------------

 

Inside of an hour, the band of merry law enforcement  
misfits was holed up in a woeful Motel 6 room. "Feels  
like home..." Mulder had quipped while taking in the  
poorly designed dresser and moth-eaten comforter.   
The room had a faint odor of misuse. He didn't want  
to ponder the cause. 

Mulder and Foster were religated to the tiny table  
in the corner of the small double room while Scully   
and Paul conducted their business on one of the beds.  
Scully was stiff on one bed, arm spread painfully away   
from her but resting on a pillow, waiting for Paul to   
ready himself. Mulder watched her carefully from his   
vantage point. He didn't care who Paul was - he'd be   
on him like a cheap suit at the first sign of anything   
less than kosher. 

"Mulder?" His intent watching was interrupted by   
Foster, who had apparently been attempting to catch   
his attention for some time. "We need a plan." 

Mulder nodded, his eyes still drawn to his partner,   
her own eyes screwed shut in pain and anticipation   
while Paul arranged his various tools and snapped on a   
pair of examination gloves. Was it his imagination, or   
was Paul's hand trembling?

Foster was still talking. "What do we do about back  
up? I was wondering if you might be able to get the   
cavalry up from the Beaumont Bureau. My officers are   
too close to the case, and our men aren't exactly   
trained for potentially fatal tacticals. Maybe two of  
them have fired their weapon in the line of duty." 

"No." Mulder spoke softly and plainly, still not  
entirely interested in forming their 'plan'. In fact,   
he was wondering what the shitstorm would look like if  
he were to pack his partner into the car and drive her  
back to DC. These assholes could ruin their own town  
without risking their lives. "We can't afford to wait  
for back up. They might run." 

"We need to wait until dark anyway, if we want to have   
any sort of advantage. The team could make it here in   
a couple hours if they pushed it and you got your ass   
on the phone right away." This time, Foster raised his   
voice somewhat, obviously irritated at Mulder's split   
attention. Mulder did turn to look at him this time. 

Mulder's ire rising, he was ready to rip Foster a new   
one before a gasp and shout from the other side of the   
room caught his attention. He almost rose from his   
chair when he saw Paul pulling his partner's arm into   
place. She was fairly writhing in misery, but he was  
dismayed to find that she was still with it enough to  
put him in his place. 

"Mulder, call Kersh and get the damn back-up. He's   
going to spit fire if we don't call him about this   
anyway." She wasn't screaming at him, but it was   
close.

Sighing, he made certain to avoid eye contact with   
Foster while he fished his phone out of his pocket   
and dialed the DC number. 

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Mulder wondered at Kersh's willingness to aid them   
in this particular investigation. His communication   
with the AD was civil and helpful, Kersh thanking him   
for calling. He was assured that the Beaumont Bureau  
would have a tactical team on the road ASAP, and that   
he was to meet them at his Motel 6 room. In the mean   
time, Mulder sat obscured in the bushes outside Asop's  
home. It was the same spot he and Scully had staked   
out only a couple nights before. Foster laid beside   
him, silent, his eyes glued to the front door of the  
trashed cabin through high powered binoculars. 

He'd been reluctant to leave Scully, reclining against  
the headboard of her single bed, holding her arm   
close to her defensively. He'd noticed Paul sitting   
on the other bed, looking enormously guilty. He   
hadn't been happy to fix her injury any more than   
Mulder had been happy to watch him. She'd seemed as  
though she might flop over at any moment, exhaustion  
taking her over. For the first time that day, it hit  
him that she would be absolutely useless in   
apprehending Ford and Sutton. In fact, he wasn't sure  
she even had it in her to argue with him about it.

"Mulder..." Foster whispered and laid a light punch  
on his shoulder, pointing toward the house. 

Mulder watched intently as Vera Sutton adjusted her   
glasses before sauntering over to her vehicle, parked  
tightly next to Ford's cruiser. She took a cursory   
glance around the drive and inhaled deeply before   
dropping into the drivers' seat of her car and tearing  
off like a bat out of hell. 

"We need to follow her..." Mulder went to get up, but  
was stopped by foster grappling wildly at his shirt. 

"Are you crazy? This is where its going to go down. We  
need to align with the task force when it gets here  
so we can take Rusty down, and whoever else is in   
there with him. Whether she comes back or not." Foster   
had fire in his eyes. He was spitting wildly as he   
spoke, his frustration with Mulder reaching a head.   
"You have no concrete reason to follow her." 

"She's a suspect in the murder of at least five people,  
maybe as many as 8. If she didn't do the final kill,   
she's every bit as responsible as Ford or Asop. What   
planet do you have to live on to assume we shouldn't   
follow her, Foster?" Mulder spat back with equal venom.

Foster sighed and slumped slightly against the fallen  
tree trunk he'd been using to steady his arms. "I'm   
sorry, Mulder. This whole thing has got me a little   
crazy. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the   
fact that Rusty may have done this. I don't know how  
I'm going to tell the team. I guess I'm venting a   
little." 

"Well, when this is all over, we can go on Dr. Phil  
and talk about our problems." Mulder half smiled,   
half sneered. "For now, I'm getting the car and   
finding Vera Sutton. You stay here and keep watch. We  
need someone to make sure he doesn't leave before the  
task force arrives. Call me if anything happens." 

Foster watched as Mulder bounded through the messy   
wooded area, more lumbering than graceful. Sighing   
again, he turned back to the house. "Jesus, Rusty...  
What were you thinking?" He whispered to no one in   
particular. 

 

\------------------------------------- 

 

Scully groaned as she forced herself into an upright   
position on the bed. Paul looked up from his book at  
her groan. He'd also been reclining, passing time   
until the cavalry arrived and he had something to do   
again. He reminded himself that he was there to watch  
her - not because she couldn't take care of herself,   
but because she likely wouldn't. It would be job   
enough. 

"I need a shower." She said matter-of-factly and   
stood up. 

Paul cleared his throat and remained casual. "Is that  
the best idea? You'll need to unwrap your arm." 

Scully nodded. "Maybe not the best idea, but I can't   
stand sitting here. I feel grungy and as much as I   
don't like admitting it, I got the shit beaten out of   
me last night. I think the hot water would help me feel   
a little better." 

"Do you need help?" 

Scully turned and sent him a reproachful look. It   
wasn't a look of anger, her lips turned in a twisted  
grin at his suggestion. 

"You know that's not what I meant." Paul smiled   
outright. "Its my job to make sure you're ok. And as  
much as I like you, I know you're taken and not   
interested in an old fart like me." 

"You're not an old fart, Paul." Her smile broadened.  
"I would like it if you'd unwrap my arm and help me   
re-wrap it when I'm done, though." 

The older man was reverent and gentle as he helped  
her remove her sling and unswaddled the mangled,   
purple arm. Scully hissed at the sight of the   
damaged limb. 

"You need to go have this casted as soon as possible,  
Dana." When she looked at Paul, he was watching her  
as a loving parent would, his look of concern far   
exceeding his disappointment. She almost wished she   
could take him back to DC with her. 

She only looked him levelly in the eye and nodded  
her gratitude, turning toward the bathroom in silence   
and grabbing an extra towel on her way in.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Paul stood quietly by the bathroom door, listening  
carefully for any sign of distress from within.   
After the shower started and he heard the curtain   
open and close with no incident, he moved away from  
the door and paced across the small motel room. He   
was growing restless and wishing he were more helpful.  
Truth was, however, that he wouldn't know what to do  
to help apprehend Rusty. It'd been decades since he'd  
held a gun with any assurance, and his age would hand  
him instant death in a fist fight. He'd been a desk  
jockey for way too long. 

Listening to the sound of water running in the next  
room, he wished he could offer Dana a job. He liked   
her very well, and knew she was as competent as he'd  
find in a pathologist. He wished he could keep her as  
a friend. If he'd been 20 years younger, he might   
have taken a shot at keeping her for a lover. A woman  
with as much heart, strength, and beauty was difficult  
to come by. 

He stopped his pacing for a moment to look out the   
curtained window, not completely open but enough to   
allow a vague flow of daylight into the room. The lot  
to the parking lot was almost completely empty, late   
afternoon sun streaming across the boring gray   
pavement. The task force would arrive in an hour, and  
they could put the mess behind them; Leave the hell  
hole of a town to solve its own problems for once. 

There wasn't a bang, a crash, or a clang. Only a ping  
as the precision bullet tore through the window in   
front of him. For a moment, Paul wondered why he hadn't  
been hit. Lowering his gaze, however, he was mesmerized  
by the budding puddle of blood on his crisp white shirt.  
Suddenly, he could feel the cramp as his body registered   
the impact of the bullet in his left side. Slumping to   
the floor to seek protection, he wondered why he hadn't   
been shot center of mass. He would live, but he figured   
a nap was necessity as his vision narrowed and darkened. 

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Mulder sat puzzled in the rental car,  
watching as Vera Sutton entered into her   
home cautiously, peering around her shoulder  
in a way he could only describe as knowing.   
He was certain she knew he was there. A sick   
feeling in the pit of his stomach told him this   
may not have been his brightest idea today. He   
felt a wash of guilt flow over him as he exited   
the car, wishing he hadn't dismissed Foster   
quite so easily or callously. The man may have   
been a small town cop, but he wasn't stupid. 

Not wishing to project any feeling of unease,  
he strode up the walk of Vera's impeccable   
home as though nothing were wrong. Holding his  
shoulders high and his back straight, he   
injected himself with the arrogance and   
strength he so desperately needed. The lawn was   
almost creepy in its stillness, the grass   
failing to even sway in the exceedingly pleasant   
late afternoon breeze. It was a creepiness that  
engulfed the entire town of Jefferson. It was  
in the air, in the ground, in the people. 

Attempting to formulate a quick plan on the   
short walk to the door, Mulder promised   
himself that he'd back off. He'd question her,  
maybe get in her face a little. Intimidation  
was the name of the game. But then he'd leave  
and go get Foster. 'Shit,' He thought. 'I'm   
such a prick...'

His exuberance was especially squelched when   
he lifted his gaze to see Vera Sutton   
standing in the doorway to her home, looking   
at him as though he were a forgotten or   
perhaps forbidden piece of candy. He took in   
her face, perfectly manicured, just as her   
lawn was. If he were looking at a "mod" girl   
walking on the streets of New York City, she  
would be adorable and unique. Her vintage   
dress and hairstyle of a long-passed era   
would have been charming, attractive. They   
would remind him of a time when women worked  
to look like women and not to prove   
themselves equal to men. While he considered  
Scully to be the ultimate enigma, Vera   
Sutton would be enigmatic by virtue of her   
position as a living antiquity. Something   
fun to look at, to study. 

"Come in, Agent Mulder." Her voice was cold  
and stiff. Practiced. But her genteel   
Southern Belle facade was fading away before  
his very eyes, replaced by the demeanor of  
a stone-cold murderer.

He slowed his walking pace intentionally,   
frustrating the woman with his slugishness.   
He could feel it; She had a plan. She would   
execute it, but he was more than happy to   
stall her just a bit. He was always told he   
ruined everything - now was the time to   
work his talent for all it was worth. 

"Good day, Mrs. Sutton." He was playing with  
her, and he didn't joke himself that she   
knew it while he smiled most charmingly. 

"What can I do for you, Agent?" She peered  
up at him through her lashes, upping the   
ante. 

"You can drop the act." He was suddenly   
aggressive, and couldn't help himself when   
he invaded her space, forcing her into the   
wall of the foyer. "I know exactly what   
you're up to, Mrs. Sutton." 

"Care to share with the rest of the class,   
Mr. Mulder?" She seemed to relish whatever  
danger she percieved in him, and pushed back   
into him with her hip. It was provocative,   
a little erotic if he'd cared to think of it  
as such.

"You knew I'd follow you. Ford wanted Foster  
and I separated so he could have Foster to   
himself. The only officer on his force   
willing to believe his Chief is a murderer." 

Vera scoffed. "You're so bright, but still   
so blind. You haven't figured it out yet.   
They won't be caught."

Mulder sighed. "Maybe not." 

Mrs. Sutton cocked her head, eyebrows both  
raising in question. She didn't have time to   
protest when Mulder grabbed her arm roughly.   
It took him less than four seconds to cuff   
her to the radiator directly behind her,   
where she'd been forced against the wall   
during their 'stand off'. Knowing she'd been  
bested, Vera lashed out with her own hidden   
weapon - a small pocket knife she'd managed   
to obscure in the folds of her ample skirt. 

Mulder hissed as she caught him in the   
forearm. It was a thin slice, not serious,   
but already soaking his arm in blood.   
Turning back to see the smug look upon her   
face, he smiled at Mrs. Sutton. 

"See 'ya later." If he'd had a hat, he would   
have tipped it before walking out her door,   
no longer feeling the sting or blood flowing   
from his arm. They were drowned by his   
flighty feeling of triumph. 

 

\------------------------------------

 

Scully allowed a pleasure-filled sigh to   
escape her at the heavenly feeling of the   
water running over her battered body. She   
hadn't really stopped to consider any   
additional injuries caused by her tumble down  
the stairs, but a quick look at herself in   
the mirror had revealed multiple bruises and  
minor cuts she'd only felt peripherally.   
The increasing stiffness of her muscles left  
her feeling muddled and sluggish. Wishing   
she'd thought to get some pain reliever, she  
worked her shoulders under the scalding water,  
hoping to find just a little relief. 

Keeping her ears open for the sound of the   
door, she wondered what was keeping Mulder and  
Foster. They'd planned to only surveil Asop's  
shack long enough to glean any tactical   
information they could hand over to the task   
force. The team would be here within the hour,  
and Scully could hardly contain her   
excitement at getting out of Jefferson. It  
was beginning to feel as though she might   
never leave. The case was like a black hole,   
just absorbing her farther into it, but   
with no positive result. Had it really been   
less than a week since she'd arrived?

Finally talking herself out from under the   
steady spray of water, Scully set out to   
wash her hair one-handedly. She grunted in   
frustration as she poised the shampoo bottle  
over her head, pouring liberally and unsure  
of just how much shampoo she would actually  
need. Her muscles ached in protest as she   
attempted to spread and lather the shampoo  
with her good arm. As she worked the shampoo  
into her scalp, she wondered at the truth   
that she'd never broken an arm. In all her   
tomboyish, combative years, she'd never had   
a cast. Would Mulder draw all over it? Would   
they be pictures of little spaceships and   
greys? She felt herself smile widely. Turning   
back under the shower head, she set out to   
rinse, but was startled by a noticeable shift   
in the energy of the small room. 

Stopping her motion, she raised her eyebrows  
as though they would sharpen her hearing.   
Looking above the shower's curtain rod, she  
watched as the steam evacuated at an   
excellerated rate and knew the door to the   
bathroom was open. It wasn't Paul. Holding   
her breath and willing her hand to stop   
shaking, Scully nearly jumped at the sound  
of a weapon cocking. It was a large rifle,   
she thought. Would her killer simply begin   
shooting into the shower blindly, or would   
he bother to look her in the eye first?   
Would he be subjected to the unobstructed   
view of a woman covered in scars, bruises   
and various other imperfections and still   
have enough hate to shoot her?

"Open the curtain, Bitch." She was shocked   
at the young disembodied voice floating to  
her from the other side of the curtain. "I  
know you heard me. Open it all the way." 

Steeling herself against the impending   
shame of baring herself and the impossible   
situation facing her, Scully closed her   
eyes momentarily before slowly sliding the   
curtain fully open. The face that met her   
was indeed young. He was a man, but just   
barely, as evidenced by his teddy-bear   
face and patchy beard. Anchored in that   
stuffed animal face, however, were two   
steely eyes full of anger and hate. Try   
as she might, she didn't recognize the   
young man, but she was reminded of the   
conclusion they'd drawn: These murders were  
committed by far more than one person. 

"Who are you?" She kept her voice strong   
and steady, demanding an answer from the  
younger man while his eyes roamed freely  
and hungrily over her naked body. Scully   
worked to pretend as though she didn't   
notice. 

A wolfish smile joined the dangerous look  
in his eyes as the young man made a slow  
ascent back to view her face. "You know   
me. My mother is Vera Sutton." 

Scully drew in a deep breath of   
understanding, the overall picture drawing   
into focus just a little more clearly.   
"Your name is Evan, right? At least tell   
me why you're doing this." 

She watched as the anger intensified in   
Evan Sutton's eyes while he contemplated  
his answer. But she could now see his   
nervousness. He wasn't comfortable with this.  
He'd never done anything like this before.  
"Fine." He sighed. "I suppose you deserve   
to know. Revenge." 

Scully raised her eyebrows questioningly.  
"Against your mother? She killed your   
girlfriend, didn't she?" 

The look of surprise flashing across his   
face was somewhat satisfying as he   
absorbed her question. He hadn't been   
prepared for a sympathizer. When he spoke,  
his voice was little more than a whisper.  
"She was going to have our baby. We were   
going to be a family." 

"Why did she do it, Evan?" Scully felt   
herself beginning to shake in the open   
air of the bathroom, once more reminded   
of her nakedness. The shivers driving up  
her spine were nearly driving her to   
distraction, but she had to make time  
for Mulder to get there. 

"She's such a bitch. Always has to control  
me. She told me I was too young to get   
married and support a child - that I was   
ruining my life. So she got rid of her. I  
shouldn't have been surprised, the way   
everyone just kills if they don't like   
someone." 

Scully seized her opportunity. "Were you   
part of the team, Evan?" 

"Ford's hit squad, you mean? No. My mom   
used Ford to kill off girls she didn't   
like. She thought they were out to steal  
husbands. It's sick." Evan's distress was   
growing, and Scully saw the beginnings of   
tears in his eyes. 

"Why kill me, Evan? I can help you." She  
fought to capture his gaze, pleading him  
silently. "I can bring her to justice." 

Evan nodded. "I thought I could hurt her,   
and Chief Ford. He wants you for himself,   
and my Mom is threatened by you. They both  
want you dead; I heard them talking about   
it. I think the Chief likes you more that   
he'll say. He said something about a teddy  
bear and some chocolates, but my Mom told   
him to grow some balls about it. I thought   
if I took Rusty's prize bitch for myself,   
they'd have no choice but to notice me.  
Maybe to apologize." 

Scully raised her eyebrows disapprovingly.  
Evan was nothing more than a neglected   
child. The law said he was an adult, but in  
a world of perversion and murder, he acted  
out in the only way he saw as appropriate.   
"We have enough evidence to put them both   
away for a long time, Evan. Let me get   
dressed. In less than an hour, this place  
will be swarming with Federal Officers. You  
don't want to be on the wrong side of   
their weapons." 

Evan nodded, overly sedate. His shoulders  
slumping with his perceived failure, he  
dropped his weapon onto the sink and   
turned back to her. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I   
didn't mean to kill anyone. There was a   
man at the window in your room; I shot   
him, but he seemed like he was still   
breathing when I came in." 

Remembering Paul, Scully hurriedly jumped  
from the tub, mindful of her arm. "Hand   
me a towel, please, Evan." 

The young man was quick to grab a towel  
from the rack and hand it to her gently.  
He suddenly appeared gawky and shy, not   
entirely certain of what to do with his   
hands. With no warning, the words spilled  
from his overly-anxious mouth: "You're   
very beautiful." 

Feeling a strange tenderness, Scully   
wondered what sort of people could ruin a  
kid like this. Was there any sanity in the  
entire town? She had to wonder, if they   
all raised their boys to be murdering,  
angry, womanizers. 

The slow smile spreading across Scully's   
face was incongruous against the spread of  
blood suddenly spattered across her   
mostly-nude body. She dropped the towel as  
her synapses fired on overdrive, catching   
her up to the unfathomable development   
facing her. Evan's teddy bear face was   
very suddenly ravaged before her, twisted   
with the damage of a bullet lodged   
somewhere in the vicinity of his sinuses.  
Brain matter and tissue were forced in her  
direction, now hanging from her in chunks.

"Very beautiful, indeed." Her gaze was   
drawn in the direction of the sarcastic   
voice. Ears still recovering from the   
sharp sound of the blast in the bathroom,   
Scully felt as though she existed in a tin  
can with running water nearby. Rusty Ford   
stared back at her in total apathy, a smirk  
of derision skewing his face unattractively.  
"Too bad you're such a bitch." 

 

\-------------------------------

 

"Anything?" Mulder whispered to Foster's   
back as he returned to their little nest in  
front of Asop's shack. He sighed a breath of  
relief at the other man's well being. Foster   
startled a bit and shot Mulder a peeved look. 

"Nothing. Not a peep. I'm beginning to   
wonder if we're not being led around by our  
noses. We've had absolutely no evidence that  
Ford is actually here, besides his car." 

Mulder felt the panic spreading through his  
midsection. If Ford was here, he knew he was  
being watched. If he hadn't confronted Foster  
by now, something else was going on. 

"Shit." Mulder cursed loudly, watching the   
outrage on Foster's face at his lack of   
control. "Relax. You're right - He's not here.   
But we've got to get out of here." 

"He wasn't here at all, was he?" If possible,  
Foster sounded even more pissed. 

Mulder shook his head. "Sutton knew we were  
watching, which means Ford did, too. The car  
was a diversion." 

"What did you do with Vera?" 

Mulder smiled. "Don't worry about her. She's  
tied up for right now." 

"Then where are we going?" Foster struggled  
to keep pace with Mulder.

"The Motel. Foster's after Scully. Its the  
final piece of the puzzle." 

 

\-------------------------------

 

"Just can't stand being bettered by a   
woman, can you, Chief?" Scully sneered at  
him, despite her vulnerable position. 

Ford chuckled arrogantly. "I'm not the   
one naked with a gun pointed at her face."

She could see that her condescending smile   
did just what she hoped: pissed him off.   
"That may be, but I've solved the case, in   
spite of you. You're the Chief of Police,   
for God's sake... and you couldn't even   
cover up your own dirt, Ford." 

The sweat began to fall rapidly from the   
Chief's Neanderthal-like forehead. Scully   
watched as it mingled in among his overgrown   
eyebrows, threatening to fall into his eyes.   
"Get out here. On the bed, Agent Scully." 

Drawing herself tall, unwilling to let on   
that her nudity bothered her, Scully   
strode past the angry lawman as though   
nothing were wrong. Deciding that her   
uncooperative nature hadn't backfired on   
her yet, she pushed her luck a little   
further. "Which bed, Chief Ford?" 

'Now it backfired..." was all Scully could   
think as Ford clubbed her in the back of   
the head, using the long rifle to his   
advantage. 

"You think you're so smart, Agent. Where's  
your partner? He and little Foster are   
sitting in front of Asop's little shit  
house just waiting for me to come out.   
Goddamn FBI think's its got everything   
under control. All the evidence is gone,  
and your partner's certainly not going to  
like what he finds when he makes it back." 

Scully willed her breathing to slow, but   
could barely hear over the throbbing beat  
of her heart in her head. "What do you   
think is going to happen when a Federal   
Officer is found murdered? Or if I were   
to go missing? This town is going to be   
swarming with every news anchor and Federal  
Agent in the region. And they're NOT going  
to back down." 

She could feel the bile rolling from up   
her esophagus as she felt Ford clamoring   
onto the bed and over her back. Her injured  
arm safely padded between her body and the  
mattress, her working arm and legs shot out   
in instant protest. Her efforts were met   
with a swift punch to the back, centered   
between her shoulder blades. The air left   
her lungs for the second time in less than   
three minutes, and Scully could feel herself   
growing light-headed and weak. 

"What's the matter, Agent Scully? Cat got   
your tongue?" Scully was floating in gauzy  
disorientation as she felt Ford's arm wrap  
around her ribcage, his hand clamping onto  
her breast like a vice. 

Her voice was weak, but it was enough to   
carry up to the man poised menacingly atop  
her. "There is a task force scheduled to   
arrive any moment. They are here to take   
you out. I suggest you remove yourself,   
Chief Ford." 

Ford's laugh was that of a man who had   
nothing to lose. "There's no one alive to   
corroborate your story, Miss Scully. An   
unstable FBI Agent lost her cool. She was  
frustrated, angry. She shot the coroner,   
who was only here to help her. Poor man.   
Then, when the well meaning local Police   
Chief intervened, she attacked him. Its   
easy to find the story, Agent. I've been   
doing this for a very long time." 

With no warning, Ford violently turned   
Scully's body, forcing her onto her back  
and pinning both arms to the mattress.  
She cried out in agony as she felt the   
crunch of her arm pulling out of place   
again. Ford looked down in suprise at her  
loud reaction. Noticing the misshapen arm,  
he smiled maniacally.

"Ed told me he got 'ya pretty good. He   
always was helpful." 

The revulsion rolled through her body  
when Ford lowered his pelvis into her,   
grinding his crotch into her as roughly   
as she thought humanly possible. He was   
practically convulsing,writhing in   
frustration and pleasure. His eyes closed   
and a loud groan filled the room. Through a   
cloud of lust, Ford looked down at her with   
another arrogant smile. "You're going to   
regret every word you've said to me, Little   
Girl." 

In that very moment, Scully solemnly vowed   
to herself that this was the last time Chief   
of Police Russell Ford would call any fully   
grown woman a "Little Girl". In his   
excitement, he failed to recognize that she   
was a trained law enforcement officer. A well   
placed kick to the crotch, the oldest trick   
in the book, and the man was writhing on the   
floor in agony. 

Her disorientation not completely behind   
her, Scully struggled to find a place to   
run. Where was the damn rifle? If she could  
help it, she wasn't running outside naked  
as the day she was born - killing the son  
of a bitch seemed a much better option.

Spying the rifle upon the dresser, Scully  
was up like a flash. The external pain   
was nothing akin to the inner disappointment   
when she felt Ford latch on to her ankle and   
she fell to the floor, feeling something   
like a sack of potatoes. Forehead meeting   
carpet, she heard a carnal growl rising up   
out of nowhere and realized that it was, in   
fact, her. She was lucky, blindly kicking and   
vaguely feeling her big toe meet an eye   
socket, followed by a howl of pain. 

She was only a few short feet from the   
dresser, and Scully struggled to stand with  
one good arm. Her damaged limb hung limply   
down her side, unnoticed. She could feel   
the adrenaline coursing through her. She   
was super woman. She was unstoppable. She  
was certain she could lift a car. In her   
ultra-overdriven state, she could almost   
see herself standing, naked, lifting a car  
atop an unsuspecting Rusty Ford. Instead,  
she would have to settle for the rifle. 

The rifle just barely in hand, she was   
blind-sided by the rotund Police Chief   
slamming into her from the side. Scully   
half-screamed again as the broken arm was  
once more abused. Grinding between her   
body and the unbelievably hard wall, it   
felt as though she were stuck in some sort  
of medieval torture device. Or perhaps a   
rodent trap of epic proportions. 

Ford made use of her hair, still wet and   
flopping around her head, and slammed her  
forehead into the wall brutally. Scully once  
again pondered her luck as her nose began   
pouring blood wildly. Then, he was gone. She   
was spinning rapidly in a world of half-sight   
and rushing sound. There was a loud shot from   
somewhere in the room. Another gun. Not the   
rifle, which she could feel beneath her as   
she crumpled to the ground. The last thing she   
saw was Paul Fisher's face poised above her,   
out of focus and somewhat angelic. At once,   
she was consumed with the knowledge that   
she'd finally died in the line of duty.

 

\------------------------------ 

 

Scully came back to awareness much more  
comfortably than she'd left it. No   
longer tortured by the feel of a large  
rifle digging into her ribcage, she was  
instead engulfed by the feeling of a   
warm blanket spread over her still-  
naked body. She was laying on something   
soft, but rather confined. Her arm still  
felt as though it may never be the same.

"Scully?" Mulder's sweet voice floated  
to her as though she were still dreaming.  
Not entirely conviced that she was   
actually alive, she forced her eyes open.

"What the hell happened, Mulder?" She   
smirked, and saw his entire face light  
up. 

"Your knight in shining armour turned  
out to be a colossal asshole. I screwed  
up. Fortunately, Paul took Ford out just  
in time for Foster and I to pull up. He  
still had Foster's back-up weapon from   
when they searched the Bed and Breakfast  
this morning. The task force arrived about   
10 minutes too late." His look was   
decidedly guilty, and Scully could   
practically see the self-flagellation. 

"Cut that out. I'm just ready to get   
out of here." She sent another smile his  
way. "So, how long was I laying naked on  
the floor before someone finally got me  
a sheet? I don't want any love letters   
from the Beaumont Field Office, Mulder."

He chuckled gleefully. "Not to worry,  
Agent Scully. Paul Fisher is nothing if  
not a gentleman. He managed to find a   
sheet to cover you with before he   
passed out himself." 

"Is he OK?" Scully tried to sit up,   
instantly regretting it as the weight  
of her day came crashing down on her.

Mulder nodded emphatically. "Just   
fine. He took a shot to the side. The   
bleeding appeared to slowed   
significantly before the paramedics   
even got here." 

Scully craned her neck to see into the  
bathroom doorway. She gestured slightly.  
"The body in the bathroom. He's Vera   
Sutton's son, Evan." 

"I figured as much. I assume he was   
working with Ford?" 

"Not at all." Scully felt her voice   
strengthening. "He said he knew what was  
going on, but it sounds to me like almost  
everyone knew what was going on. He   
wanted to kill me to get Sutton and Ford's  
attention. His mother killed his girlfriend   
because she thought he was too young to  
start a family. He wanted to get back at  
both of them because he knew they wanted   
to kill me themselves." 

"Just when I thought this place couldn't   
get any more bizarre." Mulder shook his   
head. 

"No kidding. I felt for the kid. He was   
just doing what felt right in a world   
that's so skewed he didn't know otherwise.   
Once I got him talking, he was actually   
shy; a little sweet." 

"Well, it looks like Vera Sutton's taking   
the rap for this. She's the only suspect  
still alive." Mulder smiled slightly,   
catching Scully's interest.

"How did you get your hands on her?" 

His smile widening, Mulder moved in closer  
to explain. "Foster and I were watching   
Asop's place. She knew we were watching  
and left, certain I would follow her. She  
tried playing some mind games with me   
back at her place, but I cuffed her to a  
radiator. Her boyfriend and son were so   
busy trying to murder people, she had no   
hope of anyone finding her. Her husband   
came home from a business trip just in   
time to see her arrested." 

"Swift justice, Agent Mulder." Scully   
yawned, and her gaze shifted as two   
paramedics finally made their way over to  
her. 

Both paramedics were young, handsome men,  
and Scully couldn't help the slight smile  
she sent their way. The first of the two  
explained, "Mr. Fisher is loaded onto the  
ambulance and stable. If you don't mind  
sharing an ambulance, we can get on our  
way." 

Mulder walked beside her gourney to the   
ambulance, gently resting his hand upon  
her uninjured arm. "As soon as you're   
patched up, we're out of here." 

Scully looked at him, confused. "The case  
is far from closed, Mulder. Asop's shack,   
Ford's, Sutton's - they all need to be   
combed for evidence. We still don't have   
any real hard proof, and certainly no   
MO. Not to mention that we haven't found  
Ed or Virginia White, alive or dead." 

Mulder nodded. "This place is a hell-hole.   
We've been instructed by Kersh to return   
to DC as soon as possible. The task force  
will finish up." 

"For once, I think Kersh is on our side,   
Mulder." Scully smiled slightly, the   
paramedics lowering the legs of her   
gourney. 

"It's all you, Scully. It was your case.   
You ran it by the book. I wouldn't be   
surprised if he's loaning you out on a   
consult as soon as you're cleared for   
active duty. I have no doubt Kersh will   
see you for how valuable you truly are." 

Scully squinted in concern at his   
somber and reflective tone. "You know I  
wouldn't leave you, Mulder." 

"When the time comes, you won't have a   
choice. You need to do your job, Scully."   
He shrugged his shoulders, watching her   
deflated face as the paramedics carefully  
loaded her into the already half-full   
ambulance. She didn't even break their   
mutual gaze to look at Paul. 

 

\---------------------------

 

The car was uncomfortably silent, the   
scenery passing in a blur of rain and fog.  
Scully chuckled internally at the   
unintended continuity of her life. Rain   
and fog upon arrival and closure of case.   
With her luck, DC would be a veritable   
armpit while she suffered her inability to   
take a decent shower with the bothersome  
cast around her arm. She'd been lucky   
enough to avoid surgery, assured that the   
arm should heal well on its own. Given   
instructions to check in with her Doctor  
in DC and with sore muscles, bruises, and   
one hell of a shiner, she felt like a   
million bucks. 

Mulder drove with an occupied mind. She  
could see him worrying his lip, fingers  
tapping the wheel uncontrollably. He   
was nervous about what would happen when   
they returned to DC. As far as she was   
concerned, her arm negotiated a free pass  
from Kersh for the time being, and she   
would take it. Despite her annoyingly   
anal-retentive qualities, she'd always  
been the "cross this bridge when we   
come to it" type. 

"Mulder..." She spoke softly to grab his  
attention. His eyes left the road   
momentarily to meet hers, signifying that  
he was listening. "You know I would do   
anything for you, right?" 

He tilted his head in confusion, unsure  
of where the conversation was headed.

"You think Kersh is going to try and   
separate us; That's why he's buttering us  
up."

Hesitantly, Mulder nodded. 

"I think you might be right. But, for   
now, can I just remind you that I love   
you more than anything? Please don't   
worry about me. Its wasting time that we  
could use to just enjoy each other in the  
moment." 

"Wow..." He smiled. "Agent Scully, you're   
a closet romantic." 

Scully smiled back at him and chuffed.   
"I'm a Catholic Navy brat who attended   
an all-girl school. Its hardly a closet   
fetish, Mulder." 

Their mutual laughter was interrupted as   
Mulder pointed to the side of the road,   
at the hardened, gray little carcass strewn  
carelessly in the bike lane. An Armadillo.   
"Hey, Scully, Look! Did you know there's   
actually an Armadillo Season? Its very rare  
to see a live Armadillo...." 

 

\------------------------------

 

The End

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